


(Halfway) Human Nature

by crescentmoonthemage



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Epistolary, Five Year Mission, Idiots in Love, James T. Kirk Has Issues, Leonard "Bones" McCoy & Spock Friendship, M/M, Sharing a bathroom, Slow Burn, Spock is a Little Shit (Star Trek), falling in love via post it notes, kirk has terrible grammar, no uhura hate here we love her, post into-darkness pre -beyond, sometimes crack but sometimes emotional, spock has an identity crisis, vulcans getting drunk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:07:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 28,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24160300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crescentmoonthemage/pseuds/crescentmoonthemage
Summary: (Enlighten me again, the cadet says. He stands proud and stupid and human, blue eyes hinting danger as he takes in Spock and dismisses him in that same instant. He’s heard the rumors, everyone has. And so Spock tries.)It happens in four moments.Set in early 2260 and chronicling the first months of the five-year mission. Mostly epistolary, partly serious, partly pure crack.
Relationships: James T. Kirk/Spock, Past Spock/Nyota Uhura - Relationship
Comments: 116
Kudos: 275





	1. 2260.21

**Author's Note:**

> Hello hello lovelies! Crescent here! I've loved Star Trek for a good long while but with the stay-at-home order over the last few months, I've had a good amount of time to finally get into Star Trek (both the original series and many of the other works as well!) But the AOS, being the first Trek I ever watched, will always have my heart. 
> 
> While inspired somewhat by this Tumblr post: https://yourea--stubborn--man.tumblr.com/post/163760467302/things-that-totally-happened-in-the-early-days-of  
> but the overarching storyline is my own. Hope you enjoy! I've got about 3/4 of this written so updates should be somewhat periodic. Leave your feedback down below! 
> 
> Thanks! :)
> 
> \--CM

2260.21

They aren’t even off the ground yet. Well, _off the ground_ is an exaggeration, because technically there is no _ground_ at a space-port, but nobody ever said Jim Kirk didn’t work with what he was given. They don’t leave for another sixteen hours, but the ever-wise Starfleet overlords thought it prudent to give everyone a night to settle in. Kirk had scoffed at the idea originally, but after almost a year of extensive repairs, his ship looks almost foreign to him on the inside, with only a skeleton of her former structure remaining. He supposes that’s somewhat his fault—well, his _and_ Khan’s. So, he begrudgingly admits, he’s glad to take the night to get to know his ship a little better. 

_His ship._ The words still sound unbelievable when he repeats them to himself, even nearly two years after he’d first stepped aboard the Enterprise, even five years after he’d made a promise to Pike in the Riverside shipyard. _His ship, his ship in deep space_. He’d only really spent a bare handful of days aboard the Enterprise doing what Starfleet had appointed him to do, in between all the messes of the previous two years. Thirty-six hours, during the days of Vulcan’s destruction and Nero’s attacks-- and most of _that_ had been spent in Bones’ medbay dodging hypos, with an amazing commercial break on Delta Vega. Then, three months for repairs. Afterward, a few small missions, only days each at a time, to test him and his young crew. Trading disputes. Diplomacy. Mundane, boring shit meant to force _team bonding_ and _interdepartmental trust,_ whatever that meant. Then, a routine survey mission to Nibiru, and Pike, and Khan. And after, he’d been stuck on Earth, in an endless loop of fitness checks and christening ceremonies and guest lectures and marinating himself in whiskey with Bones every night in their dingy apartment until neither of them could stand. Still, it was just enough time to love it, and more than enough to miss the stars every moment he stared up at them from his San Francisco balcony.

But he doesn’t feel like a captain. Not in his blood, not in his soul. Not yet.

_At least,_ he thinks, as he trudges with his bags through the ship to his quarters, not everything has been changed. His quarters are still in the same place on the ship, after all, though there had been a gaping hole through them last he’d seen-- and they’re a _bedroom_. If anything, they’ve made it smaller. Starfleet, always harping on about _maximum efficiency._ What a load of shit. At least he’d convinced them to add a whirlpool hot tub to the pool room—something about _acute muscle relaxation._ Bones had backed him up.

When the door finally accepts his handprint and lets him in, he doesn’t recognize it. For one, it’s larger. The large bed is nicely tucked around a few built-in shelves. For two, _hello, window!_ Opposite the door, with the bed bisecting the room, there’s two small chairs and an end table, sitting right in front of a viewport. Now _that’s_ Captain’s perks. There’s a desk in the other corner, and a dresser and other cabinet space against the opposite wall. He tosses his bags unceremoniously on the bed and does his customary ceremony of opening all the drawers and poking around in all the corners. There’s one adjoining door, _closet,_ and another door which is… another closet? At any rate, there’s a lovely full-length mirror in it—just far enough away that he can see his entire self-reflected back at him, impeccable blue uniform, boots reflective enough to shave in, disapproving twist of the mouth. 

After an extremely embarrassingly long moment, Spock, for it _is_ Spock, finally clears his throat. “Captain?”

Apparently lacking any semblance of better judgment, he slams the door shut and re-opens it again to make sure he doesn’t need one of Bones’ hyposprays. Sure enough, when he opens the door the second time, Spock is still there, blinking incongruously back at him. Now that he knows what he’s looking at, he can take in the rest of the bathroom—large sink, vanity, a mirror with a cabinet above it. A single shower.

And Spock, staring back at him from a twin doorframe.

“This is new,” he says. _Wow,_ he’s really pulling out _all_ the stops. _Full marks for intelligent conversation, Kirk._

“Indeed,” says Spock.

There’s an uncomfortable few seconds in which it becomes expressly clear that Spock isn’t planning to say anything else, before Jim finally asks: “So we share a bathroom now?” If he had a knife, he could slice it through the air in the room and split the tension into two, like an overly ripe cheese releasing its odiferous bounty into the world for the first time.

Spock looks at the bathroom, and then back at Jim. It’s honestly not a terrible bathroom. Large, as far as bathrooms go, but still only one of everything. “I believe we do, Captain.”

“Do you know why on Earth Starfleet designed the ship like this?”

“Negative,” says Spock. “Perhaps to foster closer relationships between crew members?”

But before Jim can respond, Spock is shutting the door to his quarters. The obvious sound of a lock _snicks_ into place. Jim suddenly has an uncomfortable premonition of the years ahead: fights both verbal and silent, squabbling over hot water and shower schedules and a million other things he barely tolerates with Bones, who he both knows and loves.

“If I go insane, it’s this fucking bathroom’s fault,” he sighs, and goes to unpack.

* * *

[StarfleetCommandCoolerVersion]

[Members: Jimbo, Spock, Bones, MotherRussia, HelmsmanAwesome, ScottishBastard, N.U]

1904: Jimbo: drinks 2nite everyone to celebrate our imminent departure into the terrors of deep space! thats an order from ur captain. 2200 observation 1.

1904: Bones: I’ve got two bottles of whiskey. Might as well toast our inevitable demise in the wasteland of space.

1905: Jimbo: oh cheer up mister grumpy dont ruin my fun

1907: MotherRussia: i have vodka from my country!!!

1910: HelmsmanAwesome: are you even old enough to drink?

1910: MotherRussia: >:(

1913: Spock: Exactly how and why did you create a new command chat and add everyone to it?

1913: Jimbo: cause starfleet likes to snoop and they _really_ dont need to know about my drinking problem

1914: Spock: Are you sure it is logical to be using such a chat?

1914: Jimbo: I think logic is ur job spocko

1917: Spock: That is exactly why I sent the message, Captain. Are you quite well? Your ability to type seems to be deteriorating, and your utilization of Standard Earth grammar is lax at best.

1937: Jimbo: weve known eachother for 2 yrs and never texted? surely youda noticed my grammar by now. anywho 2200 commander captains orders

1937: Spock: You do realize that Vulcans metabolize alcohol at a much faster rate than humans, making the human idea of “drinking” null?

1942: Jimbo: u know I know where u live right? I could make you come 2nite

1942: Spock: Captain, I do not believe you have the physical strength necessary to force me into doing anything. Nevertheless, if it is what you wish, I will attend.

1956: Bones: Get a room, you two.

2001: Spock: I already have quarters, Dr. McCoy, to what are you implying?

2003: Bones: If I could sigh over text, believe me, I would.

* * *

The thing is, they’re not friends. Even after almost two years of knowing each other, even after countless death-defying adventures together, they’re still not really friends. (Not for lack of trying on Jim’s part, _thank you very much_ , _Uhura_.) And for a while, they’d been getting along, at least arguing less and working together more smoothly, but then Nibiru had ruined everything. Jim had broken the rules and saved Spock’s life, but in doing so, had lost every shred of carefully built camaraderie they had gained over the months they had worked together. And then, before they’d even stopped fighting about it, Pike had died. And then Jim had _died,_ like really, really died, and apparently Spock had gone absolutely ape-shit. But then, before he could get used to the idea of being dead, he’d suddenly been alive again. He’s still a little fuzzy on that part. Spock had seemed almost friendly then, as if all their burned bridges had instantly been reformed by the power of Bones’ mystical healing Tribble, or whatever had happened. Jim hadn’t even had a chance to ask him about anything, like about the aforementioned ape-shitness, or why Spock, a man who hadn’t even cried (at least not in the presence of others) at the destruction of his entire _planet,_ had openly shed tears for someone he’d been okay with letting die if duty called for it not two days before. As soon as they had been informed that the repairs would take almost a year to complete, Spock had waited only until the chain-of-command dust had settled and all was right with Jim’s recovery before hopping on a shuttle and fucking off to New Vulcan, presumably to help, or meditate, or do weird Vulcan kung-fu or something. And there he had stayed. For a year. With minimal communications to any of them, despite all that Jim tried. Eventually, he’d just stopped sending messages, and Spock had stopped politely responding. It was useless to pretend he wasn’t annoyed about it. 

He’d only returned a few days before the Enterprise was due to leave, probably only not to miss any of the scheduled pre-departure meetings and the official christening ceremony. Through it all, he had been cordial, but still Spock. Still his somewhat distant, very private self. He’d never be alone with Jim in a room for five minutes before coming up with a bullshit excuse why he couldn’t be, and was vehemently against spending any time with the Enterprise crew outside of the required meetings. Not that he’d ever really been inclined to be friendly with Jim, but since he and Uhura had apparently broken up some time in the past _never talking to anyone_ year, he’d been even more aloof than usual, because _that_ was apparently possible.

And now, two days later, here they are. Living together. It’s as if whatever gods or higher powers lurk out there in the vast unknown universe have decided to take a collective fucking day off. Or perhaps collectively curse him.

So Jim doesn’t really know where, if _anywhere,_ they stand.

( _So you do feel,_ he’d said to Ambassador Spock, what seemed like a million years ago now. _Yes,_ Spock had replied, as if the question was stupid. Maybe it had been a stupid question. Jim doesn’t expect he’ll ever find out now.)


	2. 2260.22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There’s no response. But, it hasn’t been erased, so that’s a step forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For all chapters that concern their notes, Kirk is bold and Spock is italics. Enjoy!

Chapter 2

2260.22

[Private Message]

From: [Spock]

To: [McCoy]

0337: Spock: Dr. McCoy, I find it prudent to tell you that I have taken the liberty of bringing the Captain back to his quarters. As we share a bathroom, getting Jim inside of his room was simple, even in his semi-unconscious state.

0400: McCoy: Thanks. Sleep well.

0401: Spock: As Vulcans need significantly less sleep than humans, your use of that expression is flawed. Nevertheless, I appreciate the sentiment. Sleep well also.

[Private Message]

From: [McCoy]

To: [Spock]

0415: McCoy: Wait, you share a bathroom??

0416: Spock: That was my sentiment also. I took some time earlier to review the Enterprise design plans, as I was curious, and I found no such thing indicated in the plans. Perhaps it was an oversight? In any case, my quarters are more than satisfactory in every other way, and as the ship is up to crewed capacity, moving at this point would be illogical. I shall, as you say on Earth, make do.

0417: McCoy: Make do, huh.

0419: Spock: I will not lie and say these quarters are ideal, as I do value my privacy.

0420: McCoy: I’m not gonna ask you not to fight with him, because I know it’s all you guys ever do, but go easy on him, okay? He’s under enough stress as it is. Captaining is hard work.

0421: Spock: You mistake me, Doctor. I have no intention of fighting with Jim. He is a person I value very highly.

0422: McCoy: Well tell that to him. Or rather tell that to him six months ago. I don’t expect it matters much now.

0423: Spock: I find I do not catch your meaning.

0425: McCoy: I’m tired. Probably that. Forget I said anything.

0426: Spock: Many Vulcans have eidetic memories, Doctor.

0427: McCoy: Jesus man it’s a human expression. Ah whatever. I’m going to bed.

* * *

Kirk wakes up early the next day, despite the pounding in his head, and endeavors to make as little noise as possible in their shared bathroom readying himself for Alpha shift. He’s not sure if he’s woken Spock, or even how sensitive Vulcans are to noise, but, either way, no complaints come from the other side of Spock’s closed door as he slowly tips Tylenol out of the bottle and dry swallows it. Grimacing, he splashes water on his face, brushes his teeth, fixes his hair. After five minutes, an almost presentable man blinks back at him, if he ignores the dark circles under his eyes. 

He’s about to leave for an early breakfast and a _lot_ of coffee when an impulse strikes him. He searches through his newly organized desk for a moment before triumphantly holding up his prize in the air: an erasable marker. He writes the message in big fat letters on the mirror, somewhere where Spock won’t miss it. If he does, at least Jim will _know_ he’s being ignored.

**thanks S owe you one**

If Spock noticed, he makes no mention of it during Alpha shift. In fact, they don’t speak at all. Kirk tries not to be offended by it, but something inside him is pounding nervousness the entire day. Has he noticed it? Is he ignoring Jim on purpose? Or is he only ignoring Jim because there are currently no universe-ending crises on the bridge and looking at some space dirt in Lab Six is more exciting than talking to Jim?

It’s probably the latter.

Is it the former?

_What is the use of the “S”, Captain? I do not feel as if you and I are close enough to merit nicknames._

Kirk sighs when he sees it that evening, both out of relief and annoyance. So he hasn’t been ignored, but, of _course,_ the conversation is stiffly polite. He writes back:

**don’t call me captain it’s weird when we’re not on shift. we’re in our rooms no need for formal stuff**

And then, because he _has no self-control Jim what are you doing_ , he writes, underneath the first message:

**well yeah you’re no bones but sue me for wanting to get to know you better I guess**

Shit, _shit,_ did that sound too passive aggressive? It probably did. He’s about to erase it when he hears Spock’s door _hiss_ open and the other man moving around his quarters. Spock’s bathroom door is still closed, but for how long? Quickly, he scribbles a third note:

**to be honest I didn’t think you’d write back at all but here we are**

Before he can change anything, Spock’s bathroom door is sliding open and Kirk flees from the room, feeling every bit guilty, but not knowing why.

* * *

There’s no response. But, it hasn’t been erased, so that’s a step forward. Jim shakes his head at it as he brushes his teeth, studying his eyebrows moving between the cramped missives. Some attempt at conversation. Gah. Well, at least the first day hadn’t been all bad.

Something catches his eye, and then he notices. There’s a subtle arrow, drawn under Spock’s response, pointing to a single, added word: _Yet._

_What is the use of the “S”, Captain? I do not feel as if you and I are close enough yet to merit nicknames._

He smiles at it.

**I’m taking that “yet” to heart just you wait there’s not a single person Jim Kirk hasn’t won over in time**

After Spock showers later that night, Kirk feels almost like a five year old child as he sneaks into his door of the bathroom the moment Spock closes his. Through the steam of the shower, there’s another response. _Well then, what do you wish me to call you?_

**call me whatever you want.**

**notice you didn’t contest my last point. so do you agree that I win everyone over or no? this is an important question okay**

* * *

The next morning, as he stumbles into the bathroom for Alpha shift, day two, Spock’s crisp, elegant handwriting reads:

_Alright, Whatever You Want._

_I think the man you call Cupcake would beg to disagree_.


	3. 2260.25-31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rest of the mirror is so full of their sentences that he can hardly see himself in it. Apparently they’re both loath to erase it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For clarification- should be pretty clear when it's comm-chat (i.e texting) and when it's Jim and Spock writing messages to each other and when it's actual speaking. Jim is bold, Spock is italics.
> 
> Bit of a shorter chapter today, but the next one is over 2000 words long, so get ready for that!

Chapter 3

2260.25-31

* * *

2260.25

[Private Message]

From: [Kirk]

To: [McCoy]

0810: Jim: bones I think spock n me have spoken more about stuff bsides work the past 3 days than we’ve ever spoken in our ntire lives

0810: Kirk well I guess its not speaking exactly

0811: McCoy: ?

0812: Kirk: attachment[image1]

0812: McCoy: That’s weird man. Didn’t know the hobgoblin had a sense of humor. Also nice muscles. That was real distracting while I was trying to read your bad handwriting in your damn mirror.

0817: Kirk: ;) ur welcome

0817: Kirk: thought he hated me

0818: McCoy: You didn’t see him when you were dead…

0818: Kirk: ofc bones I was dead

0820: McCoy: Get back to work Jimmy.

0821: Kirk: if I knew how to hack starfleet chats to include emojis there would be a flipping off emoji right here for u

0822: McCoy: Well I’m glad you’re not always boy genius.

* * *

2260.30

[StarfleetCommandCoolerVersion]

[Members: WhateverUWant, Bones, Spock, Roscosmos, FenceMaster, ScottishBastard, N.U]

1945: WhateverUWant: okay every1 command meeting 2nite is cancelled cuz you’ve all done such a good job this first week and I have been reliably informed there is no new news. ha. new news. that being said if anyone wants to use that already scheduled time to do something fun i would both condone it and join in ;)

1946: FenceMaster: is that you cap

1946: WhateverUWant: yep y?

1948: FenceMaster: why’d you change your name

1949: WhateverUWant: inside joke don’t worry bout it

1949: WhateverUWant: anyway good job first week in deep space everybody. enjoy yourselves don’t do anything I wouldn’t do

1950: Spock: I do not believe there _is_ anything you wouldn’t do.

1950: WhateverUWant: see guys spock gets it

1951: Spock: …Except use proper grammar in textual communications.

1954: WhateverUWant: spoke too soon I see

1954: Spock: Three minutes passed between my last communication and yours, what do you mean by “spoke too soon?”

1956: WhateverUWant: well it makes sense u wouldnt know cuz u always reply to my chats superduper fast

1956: WhateverUWant: thx it makes me feel important

1956: Spock: That most certainly was not my intention, Captain.

[WhateverUWant has changed chat name to Jimbo]

2019: Jimbo: ooooookay im taking that as my cue to leave now

2025:Bones: this is NOT A PRIVATE CHAT. jfc. spare the rest of us your relationship drama. and choose one chat name for gods sakes. we don’t need to guess every time you want to send us a message.

2110: Jimbo: …

* * *

**so bones doesn’t like when we argue in the command chat hmm**

_I would not call what we are doing as “arguing” per se, as I do not believe one can argue without vocal intonations._

**so you’re saying that we… can’t argue… if we’re writing to one another?**

_Affirmative._

**so to be your friend I just have to shut up, cool. idk if we can do our jobs with sign language but hey I’m willing to give it a try if you are**

_I don’t believe that you understood what I meant._

**I so did**

_You begin many messages with the word “so.”_

**you think so?**

* * *

2260.31

Kirk is brushing his teeth the next morning when he notices the sticky note stuck to the mirror. The rest of the mirror is so full of their sentences that he can hardly see himself in it. Apparently they’re both loath to erase it.

The sticky note is in Spock’s precise scrawl and says _I don’t know if this was quite clear but please do not “shut up” on my behalf. Vocally or in writing. You have interesting opinions, and I am 79.5% certain that Alpha shift would be more boring if you did not speak._

He smiles at it with half of his mouth and writes back **but we don’t speak during alpha shift anyway**

When he comes back from the gym, the mirror has been wiped clean and the sticky note is gone. All that is left in its place is a single sentence:

_We could._


	4. 2260.42

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our most exciting incident so far, and the real reason I’m making this record, was this morning at 0815, when Captain Kirk was brought in by First Officer Spock, literally carried over his shoulder like a goddamn sack of potatoes. He had suffered second-degree burns over most of his body from, and I quote from the Captain here: “a shower that was too fucking hot for any human to handle.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that Chap 3 was so short-- here's an extra long chapter to make up for it! Enjoy! The bullshit domesticity begins.

[Medical Log, Stardate 2260.42]

_This is McCoy speaking. The last few days have been uneventful, which is a damn fine way to start our extended deep-space mission. We’ve treated some minor cuts, distributed anti-nausea medicine to those not used to the grav systems, and other routine medical duties. Honestly it’s been a lot of waiting around, but I’d take that over a busy day any day. Usually a busy day is bad._

_Our most exciting incident so far, and the real reason I’m making this record, was this morning at 0815, when Captain Kirk was brought in by First Officer Spock, literally carried over his shoulder like a goddamn sack of potatoes. He had suffered second-degree burns over most of his body from, and I quote from the Captain here: “a shower that was too fucking hot for any human to handle.”_

_At this point, Commander Spock brought up that, as it was also his shower, and he was, decidedly, not human and used to the climes of a desert planet, that it would have been “prudent for the Captain to check that the temperature was acceptable for him before dunking his entire body underneath nearly boiling water.” _

_The Captain then shouted something rude, which I will not repeat here for posterity’s sake, and was sedated shortly after by Nurse Chapel. Commander Spock seemed to take offense to this, and left the medical bay with haste. At this point, I departed for the medical stockroom in order to find the best possible burn remedies for the Captain. Therefore this next part is a second-hand report from Chapel and the on-shift third, Jenson. Apparently, not fifteen minutes after he had left, Commander Spock re-entered the med bay and began to pace. According to Nurse Chapel, whenever someone tried to treat Captain Kirk he would “glare at them and ask where [the CMO] was.” Just short of being forcibly removed, though, he left after much complaining from Nurse Chapel and the others on staff._

_Jimmy, on the other hand, being unconscious, was a model patient. He was treated without incident and was released later that day. I love dermal regenerators. Works of art._

[At this point there is some background noise on the recorder, and what appears to be the sound of liquid pouring into a glass filled with ice cubes.]

_I don’t know if this is off the record, but it’s been two years since they met and they still haven’t figured it out yet. For the sake of my alcoholism, I hope they do soon. I can’t stand five more years of this shit. _

[Another clinking sound, and the sound of swallowing.]

_God help me. McCoy out._

* * *

Jim sleeps sixteen hours, and when he stumbles into the bathroom at some unknown time to splash water on his face and examine his newly repaired skin, another message stares back at him, blocking his reflection.

_I am sorry for my rude words, Captain. You are not used to sharing space with a non-human. I should have better considered._

He sighs, and writes back, **me too. you’re not really an insensitive bastard and I really am that stupid. but in my defense I couldn’t sleep and so I was exhausted and wasn’t thinking. oh well. no harm no foul. you’re not rid of me just yet.**

“There was indeed harm,” comes Spock’s voice from the bathroom, half an hour later. Apparently, whatever this conversation is, it’s more urgent than what notes can provide. He sounds indignant, or at least as indignant as a Vulcan can. “You were injured based on my miscalculations.”

Jim braces on the wall and pushes off, roll-spinning his chair over from the desk in the corner to regard Spock over his data PADD. The other man looks perturbed as he leans in the door-jamb, or whatever Spock counts as “leaning”, socked feet crossed one over the other. His blues have been swapped for a sweater that looks hand-knitted and soft, but he’s still wearing the uniform pants.

He glances at his PADD, and the paperwork he’s sadly neglecting, and back to Spock. _Fuck it._

The PADD goes on the windowsill.

Finally he gives Spock his full attention. “Hey, man, we all make mistakes. I’m fine, thanks to Bones’ wizardry, so let’s just call it a day.” He can’t help but smile. “At least it was a chance for Medical to practice response in a crisis. You know Bones is _always_ looking for an excuse to grill his underlings.”

The half-joking words don’t seem to have the effect Kirk was looking for; Spock’s eyebrows still have the furrow in the center that Kirk now knows means annoyance.

“Don’t lighten the situation. His voice is tight, heavily reigned in. For a brief instant, Jim wonders what lies behind that control. “I hurt you, severely, through my inaction.”

He puts his hands in the air in mock surrender. “I forgive you, Spock, it’s fine, really. I should have remembered that you shower with hotter water, I mean, for God’s sakes, you brush your teeth with hot water and never use ice cubes. It was my mistake, honestly.”

But Spock only squeezes his eyes shut, evidently trying to compose himself. When he speaks next, his voice is stretched taut as a cord, and _furious_ , more so than Kirk has ever heard it, more so than it ever was when they’d been enemies after Vulcan’s destruction. “I have killed you once already through my inaction. I will _not_ do it a second time.”

Oh.

Kirk stands from his chair in an instant, crossing the room to Spock. He hovers a hand above Spock’s shoulder, but thinks better of it at the last second and settles for awkwardly touching his arm instead. Spock’s breathing heavily, chest moving fast. His closed eyes are trained to the ground. “You know I don’t blame you for that, right?”

Just like that, all the anger is gone, and Spock’s shoulders slump. “I blame me,” he says, pitched barely above a whisper. “I’m your first officer, my job on this ship is to keep you _safe_. And every time I try, I fail.”

Kirk laughs, low in his throat. “Keeping me safe from _myself_ is nobody’s task but my own. And besides, how many times now have you saved my life? Cause all of those for _sure_ make up for the one time I pulled the martyr act. Like two weeks ago, back on Dansar IV, when those huge spider things burst out of the trees and you shot one that was coming right towards me? Or before that, on Pasaana, when you had to negotiate with those horrible creatures that wanted to _marry_ me? Or even back on Earth last year, when you somehow, from _Vulcan,_ figured out that I was drunk and called me a taxi so I wouldn’t take my motorcycle home. You never told me how you did that, by the way.”

A tiny smile forms at the left corner of Spock’s mouth, but his eyes are still pinched shut, still furrowed around the edges. “It was Doctor McCoy,” he says, after a moment. His voice is still tense, but some of that terrible anger is gone now, or, at least hidden. “The two of you were out together, but you were more drunk than McCoy was and you wanted to drive. He commed me, and told me that even though you never listen to his medical advice, you always answer my comms. So, I made the decision to comm you about how the ship’s repairs were going. Once you’d gotten distracted and forgotten you wanted to drive home, McCoy called the cab. Apparently you went without any protest, which I’ve heard is rather rare from you.”

Jim laughs. “You’d know,” he says. “I think you and Bones are the ones I protest to the most often.”

“This is true,” says Spock. He finally opens his eyes, meeting Kirk’s with sincerity. “But, I believe the Earth expression goes: _What are friends for?_ ”

A smile blooms across his face that he feels echo in his chest. “So we are friends!

Spock’s eyebrows crease in the center. _Dammit,_ thinks Kirk, _We’d just fixed that!_ “Captain, if you wish to keep our relationship strictly professional, I am sorry that I misunder-“

“Spock,” he says, taking matters into his own hands, “Kindly shut up. I’ve been trying to be your friend for the past two years, you buffoon, but I didn’t think you liked me.”

Spock cocks an eyebrow, but looks troubled. “It is difficult for a Vulcan to _like_ anything.”

Jim grins, slaps Spock’s shoulder. “Then it’s a good thing you’re half-human, then. Now come on, snap out of it. That’s an order. Self-pity is _not_ attractive on you.”

Spock inclines his head in acquiescence, but seems to still be considering something. “Spit it out,” says Jim. “I know you well enough to know that something is churning around in that head of yours.”

Spock removes his hand from the doorframe, crosses his arms. His eyebrows raise and lower in quick succession. Kirk has a sudden and terrible urge to press his thumb to the wrinkle forming between them and smooth it out, but he restrains himself. Spock is silent for so long that he’s considering getting a replicator coffee, but just as he’s about to cross the room Spock speaks again, words tumbling over one another: “You say that self-pity isn’t attractive on me, what do you mean?”

Kirk almost aspirates his own spit. He’s suddenly _violently_ glad he hadn’t gotten that coffee, otherwise Spock’s immaculate uniform would have some new and curious spatter-stains down the front of it. “Uh,” he says, after a minute. “Um.” _Come on, brain!_ He coughs politely into his hand. “I mean, self-pity isn’t attractive on _anyone_ , unless you’re like, emo or something. But you’re always so unflappable that on you it seems even worse.”

Spock seems considering. “Fascinating. And so if I was not, shall we say, _emo_ , would I be attractive to you then, Captain?”

And _there’s_ the other shoe. This time Jim actually does choke a little, which sets off a convulsive coughing fit that takes him a solid few seconds to recover from. He thinks it’s the stiffly formal _Captain_ at the end of the sentence which really puts the cherry on top of the terrible sundae that has become his day. Goddamn. God. _Damn_.

Spock looks mildly concerned, but Kirk just waves him off with a hand, thumping at his chest for a moment. When he finally regains his breath and stands back straight, he finds that he can’t meet Spock’s eyes. How the _fuck_ is he supposed to answer that? “Um,” he finally says. Full marks for creativity. It’s like that word is half of his vocabulary now, but, hey, to his credit it’s not often he’s truly stunned into silence.

Spock simply raises an unflappable eyebrow at him, expression cool and neutral. But still, despite that, the way he’s leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, seems ready to snap. Like he’s… waiting.

And just like that, there is tension in the air.

Spock is still looking at him all-too-expectantly, so he’s forced to finally reply: “Like, no doubt about it, you’re a hot dude, like not just Vulcan hot.” _Fuck._ Did that sound weird? Backtrack. _Backtrack_. “I mean I don’t know how Vulcan attractiveness works but you’re certainly Earth hot, like did you see the way Uhura looked at you back at the Academy? Every time we go on shore leave I swear I catch like ten other girls staring at you. It’s a miracle there’s anybody left for me when everyone practically _drools_ over you-- oh, I’m rambling, aren’t I?”

Spock _hmms_ matter-of-factly, seeming entirely unimpressed. Even without looking at him, somehow, the palpable tension in the room is still there. A bead of sweat drips uncomfortably down Kirk’s neck in the heat of Spock’s stare. He feels like he’s taking an exam he’s forgotten to study for.

Spock _hmms_ again, and uncrosses his legs. “I find it does not matter what _ten other girls_ think, or even what Nyota thinks, for we are in the past. I do, however, find _your_ opinion valuable. And, you haven’t answered my question.”

Jim is forced to look at him, then, to save extra awkwardness. Even in his civvie sweater, he somehow looks wholly and completely put-together. His hair has not one lock out of place. His smooth jawline is unfairly perfect, as are his cheekbones.

If, in the last two years, Jim _hadn’t_ thought about fucking Spock, he’d (of course) be lying. After all, he’s forced to remind himself, their first two _real_ encounters were an argument (always attractive) followed shortly by him being pinned down and choked, which, under any other circumstance, would have been probably been practically the hottest thing in the known universe.

And now they practically _live_ together, which means Kirk is forced to relive all these embarrassing thoughts every night he watches Spock meticulously shave in the mirror, or the one horribly awkward time he’d wandered, shirtless, into Spock’s room instead of his own after a shower and had bothered Spock _meditating,_ with incense burning and everything, and been forced to endure that disapproval for the full five seconds until he’d managed to walk back out. Not to mention the fact that sleeping with one’s inferiors is generally frowned upon as the Captain of a starship, so he’s cooped up as it is. He’d been waiting for the first shore leave anyway, only a few weeks away, and now _this._ Apparently the universe wants to test him. 

He scratches the back of his neck awkwardly to avoid meeting Spock’s eyes. “I mean, you’re not normally my type, but yeah. Yeah you’re attractive. To me. Hot, even.” He braces his elbow against the doorframe that Spock had just vacated, struggling to find the right thing to say to salvage whatever burning shit-pile their conversation had turned into. “Why did you want my opinion again?”

Leaning just on the other side of the doorframe, Spock’s dark eyes are unfathomable. Their faces are close, so close that when Kirk breathes in, his air is warm from where Spock had sighed it out a moment before. He blinks, slowly. Time is syrup.

Spock blinks at him for an uncomfortably long moment, scrutinizing _something_ , then, all in an instant, takes a step back and shuts Kirk’s bathroom door directly in his face. A moment later, he hears the other door closing too, and a lock clicking into place. It’s so fast, and so uncomfortably like the first time Kirk had realized they shared a bathroom that he doesn’t know what to think. Apparently, whatever the magic words might have been, those weren’t them. Eventually, after a few minutes of awkwardly standing there, waiting for something to happen _,_ he finally puts his shoes on and leaves the room _._

_Sparring match, Sulu?_ he types.

_Gladly,_ comes the response, and Kirk heads in the direction of the gym, just glad for something to do.

What the actual _hell_ had just happened?


	5. 2260.42-53

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1658: Bones: you make jokes now?
> 
> 1658: Bones: put me in a fucking escape pod

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy howdy everyone! Here's another chapter! I'm having so much fun writing this, I hope you're having just as much fun reading it :)
> 
> All my love,
> 
> CM

2260.42 Continued

[Private Message]

From: [Kirk]

To: [McCoy]

1817: Kirk: bones can I talk to you?

1817: Kirk: something super weird happened earlier

1821: McCoy: We’re on a spaceship, Jimbo, that could mean anything.

1823: Kirk: spock almost cried in our bathroom and then asked me if I thought he was hot. in like the span of five minutes. im so confused?

1824: McCoy: what

1826: Kirk: what abt that message wasn’t clear

1828: McCoy: Um

1828: McCoy: All of it????

1830: Kirk: meet me in my quarters when ur off shift

1831: McCoy: You know there are licensed counselors on this ship right? I’m a doctor man not your therapist.

1832: Kirk: i have wine. please

1834: McCoy: Fine. I’ll be there in an hour.

1836: Kirk: thank you thank you thank you

* * *

[Private Message]

From: [Kirk]

To: [McCoy]

2243: Kirk: thanks so much bones you’re the best

2243: McCoy: They don’t pay me enough for this. But we are friends, and, strangely enough, I like your company. So no problem.

2244: Kirk: weird how that happens. im a likeable guy.

2245: McCoy: Don’t wear out your welcome JT.

2245: Kirk: ;)

2246: McCoy: Wait

2246: McCoy: I forgot to ask

2247: McCoy: Did you tell him you think he’s hot or no

2249: Kirk: how do you know i think he’s hot???

2249: Kirk: for all you know i could think hes hideous

2250: McCoy: We haven’t been best friends for six years for nothing, Jimmy. You think he’s hot.

2251: Kirk: well duh i have eyes

2251: McCoy: So did you?

2252: Kirk: you know I can’t lie bones

2252: McCoy: I bet you rambled on and on like you did with Gaila that first time

2253: Kirk: no comment

2255: McCoy: See you’re even starting to sound like him

2256: Kirk: …

* * *

2260.53

[StarfleetCommandEvenCoolerVersion]

[Members: capnsexy, Bones, Spock, CheckON, helmsmanalsosexy, ScottishBastard, N.U]

1603: capnsexy: hey command crew movie night tonight at 20 hundred be there or get jettisoned off in an escape pod like me that one time

1605: Spock: I am sorry for that, I hope you know.

1605: capnsexy: not like i didnt deserve it 

1607: helmsmanalsosexy: I have a botany thing going :( it’s time sensitive

1610: capnsexy: booooooo but ok. sulu and only sulu gets a pass

1611: N.U: What if I just don’t want to come?

1612: capnsexy: not a valid excuse lieutenant

1613: capnsexy: (but if u come u can pick the movie)

1617: N.U: Fine. But we’re watching a romcom.

1621: CheckON: my favorite!

1632: Bones: Dear God.

1634: Spock: I am 67% certain that, because everyone continues to change their names in this chat, one day there will be a vital miscommunication. I suggest everyone use their Starfleet titles, or, if you must, your given names.

1636: capnsexy: is that so?

[Spock’s chat name has been changed to CommanderNoFun]

1640: CommanderNoFun: Yes, I have run the calculations based on previous allegorical data.

1640: CommanderNoFun: Wait.

1641: CommanderNoFun: How did my name get changed?

1643: N.U: Same way this chat got created. COD477 back in the Academy. Did you never have to take that coding class?

1643: CommanderNoFun: True coding was never my level of expertise.

1644: CommanderNoFun: Change it back please, Jim.

1645: capnsexy: U PROGRAMMED THE KOBIYASHI MARU HOW?!?!?

1646: CommanderNoFun: I planned and executed it. I had a team of people to do the specifics of the coding for me.

1646: capnsexy: didnt you study COMPUTER SCIENCE

[capnsexy has changed chat name to capnALLfun]

1647: capnALLfun: more importantly how’d you know it was me?? i am the very picture of innocence

1648: CommanderNoFun: Because you’re you. And I believe you’re one of the only people who knows me well enough to make such a joke and know you are not risking my anger.

1648: capnALLfun: aw commander i’m honored. fine i’ll change it back. just for u

[CommanderNoFun’s chat name has been changed to CommanderSomeFun]

1649: CommanderSomeFun: _Jim._

1650: capnALLfun: thats my name dont wear it out

1650: capnALLfun: u can either join in the game or have someone else join u in it forcibly. ur call. and hey at least i used proper grammar and capital letters like ur always hounding me about

[CommanderSomeFun has changed chat name to PointyEaredBastard]

1652: PointyEaredBastard: Very well.

1654: Bones: I called you that ONE TIME and in PRIVATE

1655: Bones: JIM

1650: PointyEaredBastard: You try sharing a bathroom with your commanding officer, Dr. McCoy. See how many “private” things slip out then.

1652: Bones: I did. For THREE YEARS. And I guarantee we weren’t gossiping like damned children the entire time.

1653: capnALLfun: me? gossip? u must have the wrong captain

1654: Bones: I want you all to know that I’m sighing loudly in ALL of your general directions.

1655: Bones: Chapel just came to my office to ask me what was wrong because she heard me sighing. This is all your faults!

1655: capnALLfun: see u at movies b :)

1656: Bones: If I’m not dead by then.

1657: PointyEaredBastard: In the event of your untimely demise, it is rather fortunate that you are trained in medicine. What an incredible coincidence, don’t you think?

1658: Bones: you make jokes now?

1658: Bones: put me in a fucking escape pod

1659: PointyEaredBastard: I was simply stating the facts, Doctor.

1700: Bones: sure

1701: capnALLfun: think i’m swooning


	6. 2260.53 Continued

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s not like he’s never been in love before. If there’s one thing Jim Kirk is bad at, but seems to always be doing, it’s falling in love. He’s loved people for five minutes and five years, people that shouldn’t have been loved or thought they’d never be loved, people that had loved him back and people that hadn’t. This isn’t falling in love.
> 
> Is it?
> 
> There’s not enough alcohol here to answer that question.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really don't know what televisions are called in this universe, or if there are still movies and movie nights, but, well, it's fun. 
> 
> Also Kirk's texting/writing grammar is 100% chaotic and 100% inconsistent, but, well that's Kirk for ya. I try to keep it consistant by making it better when he's physically writing, but we all know the man is too busy for apostrophes 90% of the time. Hope it's not a problem!

2260.53 Continued 

**coming to the movie night 2nite?**

_I was unaware that it was optional._

**jeez spock i’m not gonna command my crew to hang out i’m not draconian what i AM is a little bit lonely and eager to make this awesome crew my new fam for the next five years**

_Either way, I will attend._

**cool beans wanna walk together? Since we live together n all**

_Technically we don’t live together._

** technically i’ve seen you with your hair not straightened and with no shirt AND technically you always ask if i’m okay when i hit my head on the bathroom cabinet every night because i’m peeing in the dark but technically i only leave the lights off to be polite to you because technically you leave your door open a crack now which means we sometimes actually talk instead of just writing cryptic notes on the mirror **

**also technically during the aforementioned no shirt messy hair occasion i witnessed you walk into the wall of your bedroom full speed because you somehow missed the bathroom door. i feel u. mornings are hard. idk if u knew i was there but it sure was funny. don’t worry i won’t tell anyone.**

**but yeah you’re right we don’t live together**

* * *

Something that could be construed as a snort emanates from the bathroom as Spock fixes his hair in the mirror that evening. Jim, idly scratching away at some work at the desk, smiles to himself. So he’s seen the last message. It’s hard to miss, taking up almost the entire mirror. Honestly, he’s no idea how Spock can see himself at all.

After another moment, Spock says: “Walking together would be my pleasure.” As Kirk turns his head away from his PADD, Spock pads over on customarily light feet to lean in Jim’s doorway, barely braced against the door-jamb. It’s funny how in just three short weeks, the bathroom has become their “safe space,” so to speak. They argue anywhere and everywhere else, but as soon as their feet touch linoleum instead of carpet they’re almost friends.

Spock seems to be chewing on his words, eyes unfocused and faraway for a moment before refocusing, dark gaze heavy on Kirk’s. “If you _are_ ever lonely,” he says, something like the Vulcan equivalent of a wry smile on his face, “We do live together. I am accounted a fair player at chess, and I do have a few other Vulcan games you might find enjoyable. And, sometimes, it’s just nice to sit and watch the stars with company.”

Jim grins, purposefully echoing Spock’s own words, just as Spock had repeated his. “It would be my pleasure.”

Spock raises an eyebrow at that, as he always does when Kirk says something that could be construed as emotional, but, out of the ordinary, his mouth quirks up a centimeter at the left corner. It feels like the sweetest victory he’s ever won.

* * *

When the door _hisses_ shut behind them, they fall into stride together as easily as if they’ve been doing it for years. They walk in matching sets of comfortable silence for a few halls before Spock clears his throat. “You know,” he begins, offhandedly, not breaking step. Kirk glances over at him. His hands are tight behind his back and he walks every bit the perfect officer, but his eyes, still trained ahead, have a nearly hidden glint of mirth in them that’s easy to miss. “That occasion with me and the wall is nothing compared to three days ago. Your alarm rang, at which point you rolled out of bed onto the floor and laid there for a few more minutes before you got up. Then, when you made yourself coffee with the replicator, I witnessed you pour it all over your bare foot.”

Jim laughs out loud, unable to stop himself. An unlucky petty officer just coming out of quarters as they pass visibly jumps at the sound, but, well, some things just can’t be helped. “We make quite a pair, don’t we, Spock?”

A half-smile blooms suddenly across Spock’s face, only on the side Jim can see in profile as they walk. It’s small, private, like it’s meant just for him. “Yes, Jim, I believe we do.”

Something inside him is warm.

* * *

As promised, Uhura picks a rom-com.

One of the few perks (or, really, the _only_ perk, until Scotty gets drunk and wonders out loud about whether or not Kirk is suddenly immortal) of Khan’s attack is that the ship’s interior is almost all-new. Someone (not Jim, who was busy recovering from _literally being dead_ ) apparently convinced the Council to upgrade the rec rooms, for instead of the somewhat crappy and uncomfortable couch that Jim vaguely remembers from _before_ , there’s instead a large and modern sectional tucked into a corner, along with a few squishy-looking chairs. Everything is neatly crowded in front of a vidscreen inset into the opposite wall. Someone’s brought blankets, or perhaps they were already there, for it seems that Jim and Spock are the last two to arrive.

Bones is in the corner along with Scotty, the two of them seemingly persuading the finicky replicator to make popcorn. There’s drinks set up on the little coffee table, each cup neatly labeled (probably courtesy of Christine, the only member of the senior crew to have good handwriting). Chekov is sprawled across one entire side of the couch, next to Carol, and they’re laughing at some joke Jim arrived too late to hear. The only one who’s noticed their arrival is Uhura, who immediately stands from her elegant perch on the chair to greet them, giving them both sunny smiles, and Jim a hug. She gestures sort of generally to the drinks selection, and Jim is left to his own devices, as Uhura has seemingly taken it upon herself to make Spock some sort of Vulcan-approved non-alcoholic concoction. He sighs, pouring himself a healthy amount of whiskey, probably from Bones, and settling into one of the only remaining seats on the already-cramped couch.

A moment later, Bones and Scotty affably squeeze in next to him, visibly questioning the small block of space he’s using his arm to cordon off at the corner of the couch. “Just take the corner, Jimbo,” grouses Scotty, obviously jokingly miffed at being relegated to center. Jim just smiles and steals a piece of replicator popcorn from Scotty’s bowl.

When Uhura goes over to start the movie, Spock glances back at the couch—and the full chairs—and the subtle eyebrow twitch of panic doesn’t escape Jim. He catches Spock’s eye and gestures to the spot he’s surreptitiously saved at the corner of the couch. Quietly, so as not to interrupt the movie, which has just started to play, Spock comes over and settles stiffly into the corner of the couch. Immediately, Jim shifts as far away as possible, which is, under the current circumstance, not very far, but Spock shoots him a relieved look anyway.

The presumed female protagonist/love-interest comes onscreen and says her first line of the night: a witty, introspective one-liner. Sulu snorts into his glass and Uhura shushes him, but with a smile. Jim flips open his comm and finds himself struggling with what to say.

**hey sorry i couldnt save you more of a spot. know you dont like contact and ill try my best to not touch you. but i figured if all the chairs were taken youd rather sit in the corner and only maybe touch one person. and i also figured we know each other better? idk if that makes accidental contact better but maybe? hope thats okay. wouldnt blame you if you left**

In the darkness of the room, Spock’s face is backlit when he flips open his comm. It could be the reflection, or the fact that Jim’s trying to look without looking like he is, but it seems like his eyes soften at it.

_You are very courteous, Jim, and I thank you for it. I am very comfortable, and this seems like an interesting film, so I think I will stay._

**interesting may be stretching it a little**

_The Vulcan culture teaches that in all things, one must keep an open mind._

**really? so why are you all so closeminded about emotions n stuff?**

Spock exhales a little through his nose in what might be an approximation of a laugh. If Jim wasn’t trying so hard to notice, maybe he’d be able to tell. What has gotten into him lately? Maybe it was the flirting the other day. Had that been flirting? It was weird, whatever it was. And he feels, inexplicably, as if he’s balancing on a knife’s edge because of it. One wrong move, and he’d plummet into the unknown.

Bones would say that micro-analysing all of Spock’s facial expressions and tics is sure as hell a _wrong move._

His comm buzzes again. He resists pulling it out of his pocket for just a moment, maintaining his semblance of control. _Fuck it._ Spock’s eyes are trained steadfastly on the movie, not a hint of any reaction. Not that he was expecting one.

_I must admit that I made up that piece of “doctrine” just now. However, sarcasm does not translate well over text. Either way, it was a semblance of a jest._

**ah ha! see if u want to display sarcasm over text, uve gotta do this. little stars. like this: ***

**so if u wanna say “this is a great movie” but sarcastically, you can say “this is a *great movie***

**or like this: “this is a greaaat movie”**

**but i guess that only works with human vocal intonations huh. cause we draw out our words.**

**either way, u could say “the Vulcan culture teaches that in *all things*, one must keep an *open mind*” or sumthin like that**

He grins at the comm-screen, and is too busy tapping out a reply to realize that Spock’s eyes have shifted away from the screen to land, expression unreadable and deep, upon Jim instead.

* * *

He’s forced to admit that he barely watches the movie.

For some reason, comming Spock had filled him with such a mixture of terror and amusement that everything afterward seems dull, and he’s suddenly exhausted. He knows exactly what it is, of course. Whiskey. Well, that and—

It’s not like he’s never been in love before. If there’s one thing Jim Kirk is bad at, but seems to always be doing, it’s falling in love. He’s loved people for five minutes and five years, people that shouldn’t have been loved or thought they’d never be loved, people that had loved him back and people that hadn’t. This isn’t falling in love.

Is it?

There’s not enough alcohol here to answer that question.

Somewhere in the uncanny valley between those two thoughts and the protagonist’s thirtieth witty one-liner, he realizes just how heavy his eyes are, and just how little he’s slept the past few days. Running a starship isn’t easy with clear skies, and only yesterday had they managed to finally fend off a band of would-be looters that had been following them for a few cycles—by running them into an asteroid belt. He’s determined to only blink, or maybe blink twice, or perhaps just close his eyes for a second—

His comm buzzes.

Groggier than expected, he pulls it out of his pocket, almost flinging it across the room by accident. The scene onscreen looks to be no different, so he’s sure he hasn’t fallen asleep. His comm blinks brightly when he flips it open and he squints to read it.

_If I were to calculate a probability of you falling asleep on my shoulder within the next ten minutes, it would be 100%._

And then, a second later:

_Even if you did not mean to fall asleep on my shoulder, with the couch as cramped as it is, it is almost certain you would end up there._

It’s as if a bucket of cold water has been unceremoniously dumped on him, and he feels suddenly awake again. He swallows uncomfortably and scoots over as far as he can manage, until he’s almost cuddling with Bones.

**im sorry, i’ll stay awake to save you that trouble**

The comm buzzes mere seconds later, as if Spock hadn’t put it back in his pocket in the first place. _I do not remember saying it was a problem. It is simply a fact._

Slowly, as if through thick syrup, Jim turns his head to Spock. Spock is already staring at him with a surprisingly heavy look, dark eyes inscrutable. The girl on-screen kisses her love interest and across the room, Carol giggles to Christine. Spock doesn’t break his gaze.

Finally, after a long, long moment, he wrenches his eyes away to type.

**its… not a problem?**

_Trust me, Jim. If I have a problem, I will tell you._

When Jim doesn’t respond, having absolutely _no idea_ how to respond to that, Spock replies: _You are tired._

It’s almost like…

He’s _not_ opening that can of worms right now. Sighing, he closes his eyes again, trying with all his might to settle straight back onto the couch, not leaning either way.

When he wakes up, he _is_ leaning, head almost on the armrest. The credits are rolling, the overhead lights are on, and Spock is gone.


	7. 2260.59

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He falls asleep to startrails.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mild TW: vomiting
> 
> Thank you so much for all your kind words last chapter! You wanted feelings... you're getting... well, something closer to feelings, at least. We all know Kirk and Spock are as obtuse as triangles, so it'll take them a while. Rest assured, good things will come to those who wait! And an extra long chapter for those who are here right now!
> 
> (Yes, I shamelessly inserted a one-shot sickfic into my larger multi-chapter, but I couldn't help it). 
> 
> Enjoy, all!

2260.59

Jim sits up in bed with a start. He blinks blearily for a moment, trying to decide if the sound that had woken him had been in his imagination or not. On first glance everything _seems_ in place—both his quarters and the bathroom are still dark. Just as he’s about to shut his eyes again, another unidentifiable sound echoes out. He sits up in bed, confused. “Hello?” he asks, cringing at the rasping sound of his voice.

“Jim?” comes the reply, from the dark bathroom. The strange sound comes again, and it takes Jim an extremely detached moment to realize what it is: retching.

“Are you alright?” he asks, fully sitting up in bed. It is as if all his exhaustion had been shed in a moment. Something is obviously _not_ alright; in the two-almost-three Earth months they’ve shared a room, not once has he been woken in the night by Spock, intentionally or otherwise.

“I feel entirely suboptimal,” comes the response. Spock’s voice is shaking, just barely enough to be noticeable. “In fact there is a 95 percent chance that I have some kind of sickness.”

“Only 95 percent?” he says, because he can’t help himself. Even so, he still swings his legs out of bed and pads across to the bathroom. “Can I turn on the light?”

“Very well,” says Spock, from somewhere _below_ him.

When Kirk turns the light on, Spock blinks up at him from where he’s sitting awkwardly in front of the toilet. He’s dressed in nothing but standard-issue black sweatpants, both feet and chest bare. “What’s wrong?”

“My digestive system is reacting badly to something,” says Spock, tiredly. “You can go back to bed.” He pushes his bangs out of his eyes with a practiced air that suggests he’s already been in the bathroom a fair while and Kirk has only just now noticed.

Kirk is about to reply when suddenly a terrible cold spirals up his spine and he has to dash to the edge of the shower before he’s emptying the contents of his stomach into the shower drain.

“Gah,” he says after a moment, feeling thoroughly put-out. He heaves weakly to his feet and rinses his mouth out in the sink. “What the hell? What did we eat?”  
“Sulu wanted us to try his hydroponic lettuce after we concluded Alpha shift,” Spock says. “I believe that was the only nutritional object we’ve both shared today.”

Kirk is about to stumble back to his room and comm Bones when another wave of nausea hits him and he has to throw up directly into the sink. Beside him he can briefly hear Spock doing the same.

“What in the goddamn _fuck_ ,” he grinds out.

“I am of the exact same opinion, Jim, though perhaps less colorfully,” murmurs Spock, from where he’s currently worshipping the porcelain throne. Slowly, Kirk pads back to his chambers on unsteady feet. He has to step both over and around Spock, whose awkward sitting position is taking up most of that narrow side of the bathroom. His bare shoulders shake minutely as Kirk passes. Kirk grabs the comm from his desk and digs around in his cabinets until he finds an old _Riverside Community College Chess Club_ (RC4!) sweatshirt.

Throwing the sweatshirt unceremoniously at Spock, he flops down heavily on his other side, leaning against the sink. Another wave of nausea sweeps briefly through him and he cringes, despite himself.

“Thank you,” says Spock, as he slips into the faded red sweatshirt. He rubs his eyes tiredly and abruptly slumps down fully onto the tile floor, which luckily had just been cleaned that day. He curls up with his head a few inches from Kirk’s feet and his toes just touching Kirk’s doorframe. Burying his nose in the sweatshirt, pillowing his head with one of his arms, he closes his eyes, still shivering slightly. “That can’t be comfortable,” says Jim.

Spock cracks open one dark eye and peers up at him through a haze of hair. “It is satisfying my emotional desire to be in bed with the practical need to be next to the toilet. For now, it will do.”

“I can find you a pillow,” says Kirk, distracted. He flips open the comm. “We have a bit of a situation here.”

“Yeah,” says Bones, only an instant later, sounding harried and faraway. “Tell me something I _don’t_ know.” 

It reminds Kirk abruptly and unexpectedly of their first terrible day on the Enterprise, so many years ago now, of Spock’s voice saying: “Now _you_ have inherited his responsibility of Chief Medical Officer,” and Bones responding with the same words, the same no-nonsense sarcasm, brokering no argument. For a brief moment he’s back there again, still woozy with all of Bones’ anathemas, world on fire, Pike about to be taken prisoner. He struggles to respond.

“Jim?” says Bones through the comm.

“Yeah,” he gets out, pushing the memory away.” So what is it?” 

“ _E. coli_ ,” grouses Bones. “Genuine Earth shit, too. Growing all over Sulu’s hydroponic lettuce. I’ve gotten about forty reports of vomiting tonight, but we ran some tests and it shouldn’t be too much worse than that, if you can stay hydrated. It’s not a particularly bad strain. How is it for you?”

“Uh,” says Kirk, taking a moment to concentrate on his roiling stomach. “I’m okay, I guess. Worse for Spock, though.”

“Shit,” says McCoy. “I should have guessed. He’ll have less tolerance to Earth bacteria, so it’ll probably be a bit… shall we say… more violent for him. What did you two eat?

“Salad, just after Alpha shift.”

Bones gives a dry laugh. “So you should only have things coming out one end, so to speak. Trust me, it’s better than the alternative. Sorry, there’s not a whole lot I can do. Anti-nausea meds aren’t gonna do shit, you kinda just have to ride it out. I’ll send you the replicator formula for Gatorade, you gotta keep hydrating, you hear me? You’re gonna lose a lot of liquids.” Bones is speaking faster and faster, and Kirk can barely keep up. “What flavor Gatorade you want? My favorite is red, but on the other hand, if you throw up blood, I wanna know about it and red Gatorade ain’t gonna let me see shit. How’s yellow?”

Kirk sighs. _Not like you’ve given me much of a choice._ “Yellow is fine, thanks.”

“Right-o,” says McCoy. “I’ll comm you the codes. And another rep-code for Spock. The electrolyte mix in his’ll be way different, ‘cause his salt requirements are a lot different than yours. Spock, I know you’re listening, so I’ll just say this to you directly. I know you’re a desert rat, but keep hydrating just the same. It’ll be more important for you, if this hits you harder than the humans like I think it might.”

On the floor, Spock pulls a face, or what counts as a face for Spock. It really just means his eyebrows slide together and his mouth gets approximately five percent more pinched, but for him it’s as good as an eye-roll and an explosive sigh. “Thank you, Doctor McCoy,” he manages. Kirk tries not to smile and fails, and grins even wider when Spock turns the same exasperated expression onto him.

“No problem, Spock,” says Bones. “I’m taking you both off of Alpha shift tomorrow morning for Medical reasons. Hell, I don’t think half of the bridge crew’ll be able to report. We might just have to kinda park for a day, or something.”

Kirk isn’t really doing anything by this point except just politely _hmm_ -ing at appropriate points, and is just starting to wonder who’s giving the orders when Bones finally says: “So get some rest, both of you, okay? Or I’ll come over there and sedate you. And call me if it gets worse. We might stick you on an IV if you need it.”

“Alright,” says Kirk. “Thanks, B. Hey, you didn’t eat any of that shit, did you? I know you’re a green machine ‘n all.”

McCoy sighs. “No, it was my cheat day. But it was just my luck that half of the other MOs did, so we’re woefully short-staffed at the moment. Gotta go, Jim. Call me if it gets worse.”

“You’re the boss,” says Kirk, and flips the comm shut. He rests his head on the cabinet, stomach making an abhorrently loud gurgling noise. Beside him, Spock is still curled unmoving on the floor, bangs barely tickling Kirk’s left bare calf. “Are you dead? Don’t be dead. I hate hiring.” He pokes Spock’s shoulder with his foot.

Spock sighs from his nose and shifts minutely away from Kirk’s inquisitive foot. “Would it be inappropriate to remark that I wish I was?”

“Well, I do have _some_ good news,” he says. “You get to try a famous Earth drink. You should be excited.” 

“Captain,” says Spock, squeezing his eyes shut again, “I can reliably inform you that I have never been more excited in my life than I am at this exact moment.”

“Why, Mister Spock,” says Kirk, struggling to his feet and heading for his quarters, “That sounded remarkably like humor to me.”

Spock _hmms_ laconically. “Too much of my mental energy is currently being spent on not evacuating the contents of my stomach for the fourth time in fifteen minutes to fully formulate an adequate response to your statement.”

“Well, feel free to _formulate_ less often, at least in here,” remarks Jim. “I don’t know if Vulcans are allowed to joke, but yours are funny.”

“It is both illogical and inappropriate,” comes the reply, which manages to sound somehow disappointingly resigned and chastising at the same time.

“I piss on what’s appropriate,” Jim grouses, poking at buttons on the replicator in his quarters.

“It is,” Spock replies, in an entirely different tone of voice, “an interesting characteristic of human males, to relieve themselves in all manner of unsavory places. However, I _can_ print out a copy of the Starfleet manual, if you feel the urge. But that would have to wait until I am feeling well enough to stand. Do you think you can control your bodily functions for that long?”

Kirk can’t help himself and lets out a tremendous guffaw, nearly spilling all his newly made, appropriately piss-yellow, replicator Fake-orade. He crosses the bedroom and sets Spock’s mug just in front of Spock’s head. “That won’t be necessary, Commander,” he says.

Spock pushes himself to a sitting position and peers at the substance inside the mug. A grimace briefly crosses his face, but after a moment he blinks, three times in quick succession, and then a completely uncontrolled, completely _human_ grin breaks across his face. Kirk can’t help but grin along with him, feeling warm despite the rush of cold, and then they’re both laughing, tiredly, weakly, but laughing all the same.

It is, he realizes after a moment, the first time he has ever seen Spock laugh; in all his years of knowing the man, and in all the time they’ve lived together. It’s a good laugh. Even after he does it, his eyes remain shaped like it.

Kirk brandishes his mug towards Spock. “Well, cheers to Earth microbes getting us a day off,” he says. 

“Always thinking towards the positive,” Spock remarks drily, and takes a cautious sip. “This is not terrible, really,” he says.

“I’ll be sure to give Bones your glowing review. He’s a huge dork, his hobby is developing new rep-codes.” He takes a long chug of his own. 

Of course, in less than five minutes, they’re both throwing up again. “God,” says Kirk, as he leans his head tiredly against the shower door. “How are there still things inside me to throw up? I feel like I’m about to puke out my fucking _colon_.”

Spock turns his head towards Kirk with obvious effort. His face is white as a sheet, a terrifyingly stark contrast against his dark hair. “I do not know. Are the atmospheric controls damaged? It is unfavorably cold in here.”

Indeed, he’s shivering again, despite the extra layer. “Wait here,” says Kirk, and sways again to his feet. In his quarters, he yells at the computer to tweak the settings for five extra degrees and grabs a blanket and an ancient medkit from one of his drawers, ungracefully draping the former over Spock. “I have blankets, Jim,” he says.

“Yes,” says Jim, “but this was logical. See, I don’t want to invade your quarters and look for them since I know you’re touchy about personal space. Secondly, you look like you’re in no state to be walking around. I, though I feel terrible, can at least stand. And thirdly, you’re a desert creature. I have reason to believe that whatever blankets you’re squirreling away in there have _nothing_ on warmth to the blankets of a kid from Iowa. Do you _know_ how cold it gets in Iowa?”

Spock blinks at him. “When you try, Captain, your logic really is quite good. Why don’t you employ the use of it more often?”

Jim throws him a grin as he digs haphazardly through the medical kit, coming up with what he’s looking for a moment later. “Ah ha!” he says, triumphant. Little victories. “And, to answer your question, I have _you._ ” He presses the tricorder to Spock’s forehead—it’s an older model, nowhere near as advanced as Bones’ favorite mild torture methods, but just as effective. “Say,” he says. “I took xenobiology a long time ago, and I’m no doc. Would you care to enlighten me on a Vulcan’s standard body temp?”

“About 33 degrees Celsius,” he says. “Why?”

“Just as I thought,” says Kirk. “You’re running a fever. Not much, just mild. Probably a side-effect of our little friends. You can have acetaminophen tabs, right? They’re supposed to lower your fever. I think these medkits are optimized for humans.”

“I do not believe that would cause any negative effects,” says Spock, “and I thank you for your concern.” He takes the two pills Kirk offers him and swallows them with another drink of the Fake-orade. “Unpleasant as this might be, McCoy did not seem concerned, and you do not either.”

Jim shrugs. “We’ll probably be fine in the morning. If it gets worse Bones said to call him.”

“Affirmative,” says Spock. “However, I do not find it likely that I will retain those two pills long enough to see any of their fever-reducing effects, as another bout of nausea is quickly approaching.”

“Yeah, I feel you,” says Kirk, holding his stomach.

They throw up again, even though it’s more the act of throwing up than anything else, and drink some more of Bones’ Gatorade.

“Can I interest you in a game of chess?” asks Kirk, about half an hour later, when it’s clear neither of them will regain the ability to move from the bathroom floor for an extended period of time. Spock shivers again from inside his blanket cocoon. “Oh, hell, says Kirk. Then, he says, “Wait.”

“Wait… what, Jim?” asks Spock, voice muffled.

“Do you know what always helps me when I’m freezing cold and can’t get warm?” 

“I’m afraid I do not follow.”

“A _hot tub_.”

Spock seems to consider the idea for a moment, and then sighs. “As I do not own proper leisure swim clothes and neither of us are in a state to go traipsing through the halls of the Enterprise at nearly 0200 Standard Time, I must respectfully decline. And I also must revert my previous statement. You have absolutely no discernable sense of logic whatsoever.” He punctuates it with a small smile, though, so Kirk takes it in stride.

“Fine,” he says, “but we’re obviously not going to sleep right now, and we’re stuck here together _and_ exhausted. Got any interesting ideas?”

“Didn’t you discuss at one point your love of viewing the stars?” asks Spock. “We would have to vacate the bathroom, but we both have portable disposal cans that we could bring with us.”

“Yeah,” says Kirk, “yeah, that sounds nice.”

Slowly, over the course of a few minutes, they drag themselves into Kirk’s quarters, since his door is closer to their side of the bathroom anyway, but when Kirk sees the rigid, hard back of the chairs in front of the viewport he sighs and just settles onto the plush carpet instead, wrapping another blanket around himself.

Spock, following slightly more slowly behind, follows suit and sits beside Kirk. He unconsciously leans closely to Jim, as if to steal some of his body heat, and hugs the tiny trash-can to himself like a prized teddy bear. “I’ve never seen you like this,” he comments.

“Sick?” asks Spock. “It is true, I was counted on Vulcan as having an exceptional immune system.”

Kirk snickers despite himself. “Only on Vulcan would that be a compliment. But no, that’s not what I mean. I mean like _small_.”

 _Shit._ That is _not_ what he meant. He immediately backtracks. “Not small as in like _physically_ , but you know, when you’re not exhausted and puking up your guts every five minutes, you fill a room. Like you’re the picture-perfect Starfleet officer, sharp and clean and pressed and always full of a million good ideas and snap-quick decisions. And everyone turns to you when you enter a room, because you’re just _like that_ , with the presence to swallow a place whole. _And,_ best of all,just enough innocence that you don’t realize the effect you have. A good effect, don’t get me wrong. You’re just… there’s a lot of you.”

“And there’s none of me now?” The question is clearly meant as a jest, but Kirk feels something flip-flop uncomfortably in his chest anyway.

“I guess what I mean is… People don’t seem to realize that because you’re not human-- and because Vulcans are said to be unfeeling-- that the logical, calm, unflappable exterior you present is all there is. But that’s bullshit. There’s so much more to you, and right now I can see all of it. Right now… you’re just… you.” He laughs to himself. “For lack of a better word.”

“There’s a reason I do not let my guard slip,” mutters Spock, more to himself. His eyes are trained steadfastly on the stars outside, as if avoiding Kirk’s eyes. “If peoples’ attention is focused on my _snap-quick decisions_ and _million good ideas,_ they’ll be too busy to think too carefully.”

“Think too carefully about… what, exactly?”

Spock laughs a little, low in his throat and self-pitying. “About what is underneath. The imperfection.”

Kirk laughs, puts his arm around Spock’s shoulders and _squeezes_ quickly before pulling away _._ “Hey, man, everybody’s imperfect. It’s just totally unfair that you only get to be imperfect by throwing up like six times.”

Spock turns towards Jim then, wide eyes shining with the reflection of the infinite stars wheeling by outside. “Jim,” he says, sounding, suddenly and terribly, worried, “Am I human? To you?”

Jim starts, taken aback. He struggles to formulate an answer. “Do you want to be?”

Spock shakes his head, just slightly. Those star-eyes grow a little darker. “I do not know. All I know is that I am not the same man who left the VSA all those years ago.”

Kirk laughs. “That, my friend, is a blatant lie. From what I heard, you basically told them to go fuck themselves, but just politely enough that it didn’t catch notice. That’s honestly the most _you_ thing I think I’ve ever heard. Either way, this is far too serious a conversation for two people in such sorry states. Didn’t you say there were stars that needed watching?”

The corner of Spock’s mouth lifts just slightly and he turns away again. “So it is true, then, that the gesture of raising one’s middle finger is rude,” he says.

Jim breaks into sudden, incredulous laughter. “You’re _not_ telling me that you flipped off the Vulcan high council? Spock, you incredible thing! Also you had a human mother, you probably knew damn well what it was, and knew _they_ wouldn’t!” He can’t help himself—at Spock’s answering wry smile, he hoots again, feeling joyfully untethered. Perhaps it’s the exhaustion. Perhaps he’s thrown up all his inhibitions as well. “You’re _perfect_.”

A comfortable silence follows, but something still isn’t right. So, he acts without thinking, because he always does, reaching over and tucking one end of his extra-large blanket around Spock’s still-shaking shoulder. Spock takes it and wraps it around himself, and, to accommodate, scoots a bit closer, until they’re bare inches away from touching from shoulder to hip. They’re sharing. It should be awkward, but it somehow _isn’t._ And Spock’s shivering a little less, which is good.

From where they’re sitting, the viewpoint is just below head-height. Kirk leans forward to rest his chin on the lipped edge, so all he can see in every direction are stars whizzing past. Beside him, Spock does the same, and they sit for a few minutes in companionable silence, the gentle rock of the ship lulling Jim to peace as it always does. “Spock,” he says, after a few minutes. “What would you say was the average temperature on Vulcan?”

“Hotter than the ambient temperature settings in this room will allow,” says Spock, “but I appreciate the sentiment.”

“Computer,” says Kirk. “What is the maximum temperature you can set this room at?”

“The maximum temperature I can set in this room is thirty-two degrees Celsius, Captain,” says the computer politely.

“Set the temperature to thirty-two Celsius, then.” He’s beginning to sweat, just a little bit, but finds he doesn’t particularly care.

Spock turns his head and presses his cheek against the viewpoint lip so that he’s looking directly at Kirk with one tired, dark eye. “Thank you, Jim,” he says.

Jim smiles back, tugs the blanket a little higher around Spock’s neck. “Buy me some flowers in your dreams, or something.”

He falls asleep to startrails and Spock’s soft smile, and dreams of deserts.


	8. 2260.73

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Control? There is no control, not here, not in this place of smoke and glass and dead men.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again my lovelies! Enjoy this fresh chapter! This is part one of a two part chapter, the second part of which is written already and will be posted soon. 
> 
> -CM
> 
> (Also, I updated the description of this fic because it was bothering me, so if you're wondering, this is the same (Halfway) Human Nature that you know and maybe love!)

2260.73

Somewhere, in some time, Pike is dying again.

Distantly, Jim is aware that he’s dreaming, that this a memory, but the larger part of him is drunk on adrenaline and whiskey and hurling a stun-gun out a broken window into the air intake of a jump-ship.

He’s First Officer again. They’ve taken his ship and demoted him and the person who’d ratted him out—no, _Vulcan_ , he reminded himself again and again, for there was barely anything human about the Spock of the last few days, no tiny smiles or sly, easy-to-miss humor, indeed, it had been hard to forget that Spock was an alien creature—had made him instead lose face, respect, command, and someone he had just started to consider a friend. All because he’d tried to do something right.

_He’d let you die,_ Bones had said.

It had been a great fucking day. Just _great_.

He heaves to his feet, watching as the ship spirals to the ground far below and explodes into shivers of fire and a great booming _crash_. But there’s no satisfaction in it, not when Harrison had gotten away and Kirk’s hands have chunks of glass sticking out of them and _he’s still, somehow, too fucking drunk_. He only hangs around long enough to make sure the ship really crashed before he makes his slow way back to the ruined command room. Maybe there’s someone there he can help.

As he stutter-steps down the hall, the first thing he sees, dozens of feet away through smoke and fire and chaos, is Spock. He’s kneeling, and as he snaps his gaze up to meet Kirk’s, he looks _afraid._ Terribly, terrifyingly afraid. That’s all that’s in Spock’s eyes, that fear, that loss, that _pain._ Something twinges inside him despite his anger, because _for Spock to look like that, something must be very, very wrong._ And then he notices the figure prone behind Spock, sees the uniform and the too-polished shoes, and he starts to run.

Pike’s dead already anyway.

As he curls his fingers in Pike’s uniform shirt, he’s only aware of the dichotomy of hot and cold: Pike’s cooling cheek, and the hot tears spilling down his own. The still, smoky air presses down onto him like a ton of bricks. Spock’s eyes are on him, he can _feel_ the gaze burning into the back of his head, but Jim can’t bear to look at him. If he spoke, he’d be screaming. Control? There is no control, not here, not in this place of smoke and glass and dead men. _This is your fault,_ he’d scream, _if you hadn’t made that damned report Pike wouldn’t have been here, Pike wouldn’t have been a captain in a meeting only for captains._

He doesn’t say it. Instead he pushes himself up, bracing a hand on Spock’s shoulder, and walks away without looking at him. He doesn’t say the anything about Pike, or about loss, or about what the hell to do next, and he doesn’t say what he wants to say, the words burning and clawing up his throat: _if I’d died in here would you have regretted not telling me you missed me?_ No. He shuts his mouth, and steels his heart, and flees from the room.

Spock finds him not fifteen minutes later, a floor down from the ruined conference room where he’s staring, unseeing, out the window. Kirk knows it’s him from the sound of his footfalls alone, but he doesn’t turn. Spock stops a foot behind him, wisely not coming to stand beside him as they have so many times before, standing on the bridge and looking off into space. This could be a kin to that, if the hum of the Enterprise’s engines filled the room instead of the wail of approaching emergency vehicles far below. “They want you for a debrief, Captain,” he says, finally. His voice is calm and unwavering. Whatever Spock might or might not feel, it betrays nothing. 

“I’m not a fucking captain, Spock,” he grinds out.

“As Captain Pike has now passed away, it appears that the role of command—”

Something snaps inside him, and he whirls around in one fluid, angry motion. “ _Dammit_ , Spock!” he yells, “What the fuck is wrong with you? The closest thing I had to a _father_ just died in a terrorist attack and all you want to talk about is the goddamn _chain of command?_ ” 

“I’m sorry, Captain, it was not my intention to—”

“Yeah,” he snaps. “It’s never your _intention._ It was never your _intention_ to get me fired, it was never your _intention_ to put Pike into the line of fire in a meeting he shouldn’t have been in, it’s never your _intention,_ but it always seems to happen anyway.”

“I made a mistake,” says Spock, flatly. His mouth is a thin line, eyes dark and unreadable.

“ _Congratulations_ ,” Kirk growls. “What is it, Baby’s First Fuckup?” 

“Captain, I can sense that you are angry—” Kirk cuts him off with a seething glare, “--and so if you would prefer I will leave you alone.” The hasty manner in which he says it makes Kirk think it’s something entirely different than what he had planned to say. That hesitance makes him almost regret his choice of words.

Almost.

He turns back to the window, feeling sullen and angry and very, very alone. “I’ll still reinstate you, since that’s obviously what you’re here to talk about. You’re still the best damn XO in Starfleet, even if you do hate me.”

“What makes you think I hate you, Captain?” In the reflection of the window, he sees Spock’s eyes glimmer with hurt for a brief instant before the slate is wiped clean with now-familiar Vulcan calm. That moment of hurt, in and of itself, is unfair.

He makes a fist, but taps the window with it in lieu of shattering the glass entirely, like he wants to. _Fuck this, and fuck him for making it so hard._ “Next time I’ll just leave you to fucking die, see how you like it then. You know, people who like each other don’t do this kind of _shit_ to each other. Friends save friends. Friends help friends out when they make mistakes. Friends don’t do, well, whatever the hell we do.” Something inside his chest constricts painfully. _Can this conversation be over?_ “Whatever. I know missed our shot at being friends a long time ago, and I know I had a big hand in that. But if you want it, the job’s still yours. Starfleet seems to think we work well together, when we’re not ripping out each other’s throats.”

“Thank you, Captain, but that is not what I came down here to talk to you about.”

“Yeah, the debrief,” remembers Kirk. He taps the window with his fist again, clenching and unclenching his jaw. _Calm. Control._ “Tell them I’ll be up in a few, or something.”

Spock seems to consider for a moment. “I could just tell them that you are not fit for debrief, and that they may contact you in the morning.”

“Yeah, why don’t you do that.” As soon as Spock gives him a curt nod, types a note out on his PADD, and leaves the room, he flees out the opposite door as far as his feet can take him. He doesn’t know where he’s going except _away, away, away._

The turbolifts have stopped so he takes the stairs, all twenty flights of them, then books it across campus to his apartment blocks away. Bones is out for the night with his daughter, so Kirk has the space blessedly alone.

It’s oppressive.

He throws open every window, flooding the place with cold air, and pours himself a shaky drink from their bar cart in the corner. He’s barely stripped off his sweaty uniform shirt and started to examine the glass shards still sticking out of his hands when the computer alerts him. “Identify,” he says, and, over the speaker comes: “Captain. It's Spock.”

He pulls a new shirt over his head, ignoring the sting in his hands, and goes to answer it.

“How do you know where I live?”

Spock cocks an eyebrow. Somehow in the last thirty minutes he’s found time to ditch his dress blacks for a sleek grey jacket, tight-fitting pants, and a weirdly complicated scarf ensemble. “It wasn’t difficult.”

“Did you realize that my literally _leaving the building_ meant that I didn’t want to talk to you?”

Spock looks unamused and no-nonsense. “You’re injured, Jim.”

“So fucking what. I live with a doctor.”

“Who’s not here tonight,” says Spock, matter-of-factly.

Kirk sighs loudly and takes a sip of his whiskey. “Okay, Big Brother, what the hell do you want? There’s other doctors for this kind of thing besides just Len. How did you know I wasn’t about to call one of them?”

Spock gives him a Look. “You and I both know that almost every Starfleet medical officer in the near vicinity will be assisting in the conference room wreckage. You and I both also know that you’re too selfless to make them take on another patient, and too stubborn to think you couldn’t do it yourself.”

“So what, you with your suddenly obtained magical first aid skills couldn’t go be useful in the wreckage, too?”

Spock’s other eyebrow raises to meet his first. Impatience. Not a trait Spock displays often. “Will you let me in or not?”

He fights an internal battle with himself for one instant, two, resisting the urge to punch something. Silently annoyed, he finally holds the door open. “Something tells me you won’t leave even if I do slam the door on you.”

Spock is carrying a backpack that Kirk hadn’t noticed on the doorstep, and sets it on the kitchen table. He unzips it perfunctorily to reveal a first aid kit, as well as some other things Jim doesn’t see. “You know we have one of those, right?”

Spock doesn’t turn. “I did not want to take the supplies of Doctor McCoy without his permission.”

Jim sits heavily on the couch and finishes his drink. Already his buzz is returning as the adrenaline fades. He thinks he may need it to tackle this conversation. “Here’s another something you and I both know. It’s a little bit of glass and a few scrapes. I may be self-sacrificing, but I’m not stupid. I could easily have dealt with it on my own, especially with all of Bones’ supplies. Why are you really here?”

Spock fiddles with a small bottle of rubbing alcohol, not meeting Jim’s eyes. After a moment he speaks, and it sounds like he’s choosing his words with care. It immediately sets off alarm bells in Jim’s brain. “You are angry. It would be prudent for you to direct your anger towards me, someone who understands and is not capable of taking offense, rather than someone else, possibly jeopardizing your Starfleet career further.”

With that, a white-hot rush of rage bursts up through Jim’s chest. He slams to his feet, slams over to the bar cart, pours himself another drink in unsteady hands and slams that down, too. Only after that does he speak, and finds his voice is shaking with anger. “First of all, to come into my house and immediately tell me that I pick fights on purpose and that I can’t keep my mouth shut is _not_ a great way to start a conversation. Secondly, do you _know_ why my Starfleet career is in jeopardy? Do you _know_?”

Spock’s eyes upon him are infinitely patient. It only makes Jim angrier. “Because you broke the Prime Directive.”

“No, because _you_ blabbed about it. There’s a reason the kid who always tells to the teacher has no friends. _Everybody_ cuts corners. Everybody does things they probably shouldn’t. We’re _people_ , that’s what we _do_. Do you know how many times I’ve overlooked things on the Enterprise that maybe aren’t totally by the book, but that are good and right and _have heart?_ If I reported on everyone who broke a rule we’d be out of half a crew.”

Spock shakes his head. “You forget, Jim. I am not _people_ , not as such. Our moral compasses are different.”

Jim laughs, angry. “I’m finding it kind of hard to forget, actually”

But Spock’s voice is rising, bulling forward without pause. It reminds him blisteringly of their first meeting, the hearing after his third attempt at the Kobiyashi Maru. _Enlighten me again,_ he'd said and Spock had tried. 

Spock's voice now is just as hard as it had been then, in his long-ago memory. “Moreover, you did not break just _a_ rule. You broke _the_ rule. The only rule.”

“Where I come from, the only rule we have is protecting our own.”

Spock’s mouth tightens and his eyes grow dark. “You had _no right_ to save me, _none._ I went into that volcano knowing exactly what I was doing and you had _no right_ to pull me out. I was in control.” 

“ _I had every right_ ,” Jim yells. “Do you know what it would have done to the crew if you’d died? To Uhura? To your _father_? Hell, to _me?_ Listen, I know you don’t give a shit about any of us, I know it better than anyone, but we sure as hell give a _shit_ about you. If you want to live your life alone, without friends or companions or people who care if you live or die then you are _welcome_ to find another ship right fucking now.”

Spock falls utterly silent, all the presumed anger vanishing in a heartbeat. “You assume I do not care about you.” His voice is pitched low.

Jim laughs. “When I asked Bones what you’d do, if I was in the volcano and you were on the ship, do you know what he said? He said you’d let me die. And he was right. You’d sacrifice the whole damn lot of us if it meant you could keep up face and form and your precious _rules_. And even today, when I told you I’d miss you on the new assignment, you didn’t even reply!” He takes a deep breath, bulling forward. “Look, we’ve all lost people. I get it. I know that all the people and things you loved are gone with Vulcan, I do, and that must hurt like hell, but that gives you no right to be a dick to all the people who love you now and are still here. Even if you don’t love any of them back.”

Spock says nothing for a long, long moment. He’s not meeting Jim’s eyes. “If you think that I do not care about you then it seems you do not know me at all.”

“You don’t let me know you,” says Kirk. “Every time I try to talk to you, you keep it strictly professional. I invite you for chess, for drinks, for _whatever_ , on-ship or not, and you always say no. After a few missions I just stopped trying.”

“Do you want me off your ship, Jim?”

“Jesus, Spock, I’ve been fighting to keep you on my ship since the day I accepted you as my XO. I just don’t think _you_ want to be on my ship.”

“Vulcans cannot want,” says Spock, but it’s barely a whisper.

Jim doesn’t know what to say to that.

They stand, in awkward silence for a moment, before Spock abruptly puts the medkit back in his bag. “It is logical that I go.” He seems to consider for a moment before pulling something out of his pocket and tossing it at Jim. It’s a Starfleet insignia pin. “It was Captain Pike’s. He’d want you to have it.”

Kirk is so oddly struck by this that he doesn’t notice Spock leaving his apartment and shutting the door until he’s left alone, shards of glass still in his hands and feeling worse than he has all day.

_Someone who understands and is not capable of taking offense._ What bullshit.


	9. 2260.73 Continued

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He doesn't want to think about the real problem.

2260.73 Continued 

He wakes slowly, fighting for consciousness as the dream fades around him. Those few days had just been awful all around—the absolute shit-show that had been Nibiru, Pike’s death, his and Spock’s arguments. It had been their biggest fight, Kirk thinks, even bigger than the one just after Vulcan, because he wasn’t trying to goad Spock into anything—he was just angry and sad and very, very alone. And Spock had promised that he wouldn’t react, even though he had. The next morning, when they’d seen Marcus, Spock hadn’t even mentioned it. Somehow, that had made it even worse.

Before he’d even had time to blink, Khan had manipulated him, and the warp core had malfunctioned, and he’d died. After his timely resurrection, as if the whole miserable affair was somehow his fault, Spock had barely spoken to him. Those two days, just forty-eight measly hours, had seemingly blown apart any chance he and Spock had ever had at a friendship. Apparently it didn’t matter that Spock’s _literal last words_ to Jim on his _literal deathbed_ were a confirmation of that bond. Whatever Spock said they were, friends didn’t abandon friends for nearly a year with no contact and no warning.

Jim doesn’t know what he did wrong, but he knows it must be _something._ And it’s something he’s been trying desperately to repair, since he’d first opened the door on their thrice-be-damned shared bathroom. Was it working? He’s not sure.

And now, because _of course_ there is, there’s been even more heaped onto the shitshow that is suddenly his life. For example, whatever had happened almost a month before, when he’d thought about fucking Spock. Well, not thought. Fantasized? He was forced to admit that it sounded lewd, even to him.

_In my defense, I was under duress._

But it wasn’t the fucking that was the real problem.

He doesn’t want to think about the real problem.

Jim, in bed, sighs. He knows with that soul-crushing certainty of the frequently exhausted that sleep will be elusive to him again that night. Annoyed, both at himself and Spock, he gets out of bed and pads quietly to the dark bathroom to splash cold water on his face. _Spock._ God. He shakes his head, water droplets flying. Spock is the last person he wants to deal with, after a nightmare and before staring down yet another sleepless night. He hopes he doesn’t wake--

“Jim?” says Spock suddenly, disembodied voice floating out of the darkness. He jumps in surprise, narrowly missing cracking his head on the cabinet above the toilet.

“Jesus, you scared me. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Spock’s voice is mild and affectless as ever. “You did not wake me, I was simply meditating. Is all well? You are not usually awake at this hour.”

“Yeah,” says Jim, “just had a weird dream.” He’s about to leave it at that and go back to bed-- _don’t fight with him, you’re finally getting past that, don’t bring it up, if you can forget about it maybe it’ll be alright_ —but his tired mouth speaks before his brain can catch up. “Do you remember that fight we had, right after Pike died? Where you came to my house and promised not to get angry and then you totally got really angry and left?”

Spock is silent for so long that Jim mentally curses himself for mentioning it at all. _There you go, ruining everything again._ Just as he’s about to give it up for a lost cause and go back to his quarters, Spock appears in the doorway to their bathroom. He’s dressed in comfortable looking civvies, feet bare. The sight of that strikes Jim, for some unknown reason. “The truth is that I left not out of anger to you, but out of anger to myself.” He braces a careful hand against the doorjamb, somehow making leaning against a door look unfairly professional and put-together. “You told me that night that I did not let you know me, is that still true?” Something in his voice has changed minutely, but Jim can’t put a finger on _how,_ or what it might mean. 

He considers for a moment, crossing his arms and jutting a hip against the counter. “I think I know you better now,” he says, finally. “But most of that is due to whatever Starfleet planning oversight has us sharing a bathroom. If this hadn’t happened, I’m not sure what we’d be.”

“Planning oversight aside,” says Spock, a half-smile flashing across his face for an instant, “I am grateful that we are friends.”

Kirk frowns, unsatisfied. Leave it to Spock to, entirely unsurprisingly, stick a finger right into the pie. _Well, now or never. I guess._ He takes a deep breath and thinks _don’t fuck this up._

“That doesn’t change the fact that after Khan, you ignored me for an _entire year_. I can’t lie, I was a little surprised when you showed back up for pre-mission meetings.” He drums his fingers on the countertop, avoiding Spock’s eyes. “I didn’t think you were coming back.” It’s what he’s wanted to say for months.

“I didn’t either,” replies Spock, too quietly.

That gives him pause. “What do you mean?”

“Computer, lights to twenty percent,” says Spock. They blink at each other for a moment after the computer complies. If Jim was any more tired, he’d say Spock looked almost… nervous, standing there in the doorframe. He breathes in, seemingly steeling himself. “When I went to New Vulcan, after your hospital discharge… I intended to resign. I went to see my father, and to undergo Kolinahr.”

Jim sucks in a sharp breath, and Spock raises an eyebrow. “I assume, from this response, that you know what the ritual entails?”

He’s aghast. He shakes his head a little, feeling a lot of things he has no name for and two he does: anger, and disappointment. “You went back to New Vulcan to purge your emotions. To become fully Vulcan, and to quit. And you didn’t tell anyone? Even though you knew you’d never see us again?” A tide of red hot resentment threatens to well up in his stomach, but he forces it down, forces his voice to calm. “Why?”

Spock looks unfairly dismayed. “To say I did not wish to return would not be the truth, but my actions betray me.” He draws his eyebrows together, mouth a thin line. “I tried to complete Kolinahr, but I could not. I had no control.”

“That doesn’t answer my question,” says Kirk. He draws a hand down his face, scrambling for words. “That night we fought, you told me _if you think I don’t care about you, then you don’t know me._ I guess I don’t know you, then. Because if you cared about us, why’d you leave us?” _Why’d you leave me?_ The words bubble up in his throat, but he forces them down. “I just don’t understand.”

“Neither do I,” says Spock, quietly.

“That’s a cop-out and you _know_ it.”

Spock raises an eyebrow, but there’s not as much force behind his gaze as usual. “I do not know what you wish me to tell you.”

“How about the _truth?_ ” cries Jim, but all the anger he’s tried to put into his voice comes out plaintive instead. “You tell me we’re friends, you tell me you care about me, you tell me you want to be here, but how can I believe it when I find out that you’re trying to leave? That you want to leave? You abandoned us for an entire _year_ , Spock, and then come back and pretend it never happened? That we’re somehow cool and can forget about it? Because guess what, I _didn’t_ forget about it _._ ”

He sighs, turning away. He can’t bear to meet Spock’s eyes, to wonder if sadness or disapproval or anger hides behind that gaze. Abandonment. Just like every other important person in his life. He’d hoped Spock would be better, but that hope was born from youth and naivety, and died when he had. He’d tried to have that hope again, ever since he’d opened his bathroom door, but it seems pointless.

Finally he finds words, but the voice that comes out is too quiet and certain to be his. “If you want to leave, just go. I’ll approve a transfer, or outfit a shuttle, whatever you need. I won’t stop you. I won’t even object if you never want to speak to any of us again. But I _will_ object if you call me a friend and then turn your back on me with no warning.”

“That is not what I wish.”

“So what _do_ you want? And don’t lie to me.” He’s tired of this conversation. He’s tired of Spock. He’s tired, period.

“Captain, you know that Vulcans cannot lie.”

“Don’t evade me, then.”

Vulcan spice tea,” says Spock, after a painfully long moment. Jim still isn’t looking at him. “Not a replicator code, but true spice tea, from a world that no longer exists. And to feel truly warm again, even though I am light-years from any desert. And a great many other things I will not tell even you.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he replies, disappointed. “Goodnight.”

And even though Spock begins to something, Jim shuts the bathroom door and tells the computer to lock it before he can hear what it was.

As he returns to bed, and does not sleep, he allows himself the luxury to think it. The real problem. He’s been running from it for so long, but it seems unavoidable. 

_I’m in love with him._

Once that thought comes out, the inevitable rest follow. _I’m in love with him and I don’t mean a goddamn thing to him. He’s just like everyone else I’ve ever loved._

_When will I learn?_


	10. 2260.74

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And if the Captain’s chair had given him nothing else, it had given him that realization: I am more than just a washed-up kid in Riverside with his face half smashed-in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise that this is the last emotional chapter for a while, and that it will get more light-hearted and epistolary again after this! 
> 
> Enjoy :)

2260.74

The next morning, precisely two minutes before Alpha shift begins, Spock comes over to where Kirk is sitting in the Captain’s chair, idly scanning the day’s reports. After an expectant moment, Kirk glances up. “Yes, Commander?”

This seems to throw Spock, as his normally placid gaze slips for an instant and his eyebrows quirk in the center before returning to emotionless order a moment later. “Captain, you almost never refer to me by my title. In fact, you call me by my name with almost 95% frequency. Is there something wrong?”

The fact that Spock looks as presentable as ever, face even and hands clasped behind his perfect uniform shirt, makes Jim suddenly put out. He’s sure he himself is a sorry state, eyes haggard and tired and mouth a thin line, and the fact that Spock is still the perfect professional after the night before seems almost cruel. Granted, _he_ wasn’t the one wrestling with _feelings_ and _emotions_ and all that bullshit. As if he had any to begin with. But still, Kirk has to resist dropping his face into his hands, and makes himself meet Spock’s gaze. His words seem apt to betray him, more apt now after no sleep. _Don’t fight, not here, not in front of the crew._

So he simply blinks at Spock coolly, willing himself to calm. “If there was, Commander, we really shouldn’t be discussing it during Alpha.”

This only serves to make Spock look mildly concerned. “Captain, if the issue is with your health—”

“It’s not my health, Jesus,” Jim cuts him off.

Spock opens his mouth to say something else, but then the clock turns, Alpha shift officially begins, and Spock, ever precise, is forced to retreat back to his station before Kirk addresses the bridge crew.

It’s going to be a terrible day.

He wishes he could just forget about it. It was a distinct failing of the future, he thinks, that they hadn’t yet invented a better way to forget than alcohol or drugs. Earth in the late 20th century had been so creative with their ideas. Red pill, blue pill. Sometimes, _now_ being one of them, he’d much rather have the blue.

But blue is Spock’s color.

And that, _right there_ , is it. Jim Kirk was really, _really_ good at falling in love with unobtainable creatures, but somehow, this one was different. At least while Spock had been with Uhura, he’d been officially off the market, not just under-the-table unwinnable, because Jim Kirk, master of falling in love with unobtainable creatures, is also a master at hating himself while he does so.

But when Spock and Uhura had separated, he, _oh, why had he done this,_ had allowed himself to hope. What had been the lesson of Pandora’s box? If you don’t hope, you stay alive. Sad, perhaps, but breathing and sad. 

And then, just because who else better to ruin everything, he had to go and muck it up. Why couldn’t he just forget about the whole year? Let it go, leave it be? If he’d just swept his indignity under the rug like a good little Captain, they could have stood a chance at being friends, real friends. Nothing more, but that was enough.

But he’d been walked over too many times before, and maybe, just maybe, in the last two years he’d decided that he’d had enough. He’d seen new worlds. He’d saved lives. He’d finally blocked Gary Mitchell’s comm frequency. And if the Captain’s chair had given him nothing else, it had given him that realization. _I am more than just a washed-up kid in Riverside with his face half smashed-in._

That doesn’t mean it has to be easy, though.

* * *

When he stumbles back to the room later, too much later, after Alpha and a workout with Sulu and a chat with Chekov that he’d been cajoled into, he wants nothing more than to go to bed. But as he’s splashing water on his face, on his sweaty hair, the newest note in the mirror stops him.

_I have run through several scenarios in my mind today, and the only logical one is that you are angry with me. I would inquire as to why._

The whiteboard marker sits on his side of the counter, right on the edge, like a peace offering. He looks at it, then back at the writing on the mirror. _I am more,_ he thinks, _than those cornfields and my black eyes._

**not really something you can write down**

It’s satisfying that mere moments after he puts down the pen and high-tails it back to his quarters, he hears the sound of Spock entering, presumably to read what he had written. “So speak to me, if you will not write.”

He turns from his chair, where he’d been putting in an effort to look casual while feeling anything but. Spock is standing in the doorframe, the sight akin to so many other months. It makes something in his chest hurt. 

When he doesn’t immediately reply, Spock continues: “Since nothing has changed between us besides our conversation last night, I can only assume this relates to that?” He’s mildly gratified that Spock seems almost… nervous, as if he’d been dreading it just as much.

 _I am more than Mom’s dusty house,_ he thinks, and then, _just say it. Say it and be done with it._ But other words come out in their place. “Do you want to leave?”

That answer seems to dissatisfy Spock. “I told you as much last night, Captain, I am content where I am.”

“And as I told you last night, _don’t lie to me._ Or _evade,_ or _avoid,_ or whatever the hell it is you use as an excuse when you don’t want to talk about something.” He breathes out a heavy sigh. “You saved my life, Spock, and then as soon as I woke up you were _gone_ , without saying a single word to any of us. All I want to do is know _why_.”

“As I said previously, I went to complete Kohlinar.”

“ _Why_? Why would you save me if you were just going to leave me after? And, and, and now you’re back and you want to put it behind you with no explanation. Just like old times, huh?” Kirk realizes he’s almost shouting but can’t bring himself to stop. “Well, maybe you can forget about it, but I can’t seem to forget about how you brought me back from death and then fucked right off before I could even say thank you, much less approach you to try to talk about it.”

Spock clenches a tight hand around the doorframe, like a drawn bow tense and primed to fire. “Jim, do not make me face this.”

“And you think it’s easier for me to face the idea of my own _death?_ ”

Spock is quiet. “That is why I left.”

“Because you didn’t want to _deal_ with me?”

“No!” Spock explodes into a sudden fury of motion, hands flying out to either direction. The only thing within reach are a few books of Jim’s stacked haphazardly on a side table; they’re thrown to the floor with a _crash_.

As soon as it happens, it’s over, and Spock is still again, chest heaving. When he speaks, he clearly makes great effort to keep his voice calm. “I want to… deal with you. But I cannot, in my current emotional state. I am… compromised. Still.”

He pauses, for a moment. “And so I went to New Vulcan to purge my emotions, so that I could be of better use to you and your crew.”

“But you couldn’t,” says Jim, quietly.

“I am not Vulcan,” says Spock, and Jim has a sudden, sinking feeling that those are the worst words Spock could ever have to say. “I have no control.”

“That’s not true.”

Without a word, Spock reaches down to scoop the books up. When he stacks them neatly back onto the table, it’s like he’s yanked a veil back over himself, everything beneath hidden. “I do not think my people would agree.”

Jim bulls forward. “Even if it is, do you think I _care_? Being messy and complicated is just part of being a person. And I want _you_ here, messy and complicated and exactly as you are.”

But Spock just gives him a sad, tight smile. “You forget, Jim, that I am not a person.” Then he turns to leave the room and Jim suddenly knows with a sinking certainty that his time to speak is soon over, that the door will be closed on this conversation forever and Spock will never let him in again and so he has to say it. _I am more, I am more, I am more._ And so he says it. Not the full truth, but closer.

“It hurt me too, you know. You don’t get to just play the sympathy card and get out of jail free every time I try to bring this up.”

The anger blazing in Spock’s eyes as he whirls around is like none Jim has ever seen from him, not since Vulcan and maybe not even then. That was fresh anger, but this is worse, somehow, the angry red of a half-healed wound ripped reopen. “How can you seek to compare the pains we feel?”

“I’m not trying to, I just—”

Before he can finish, Spock advances on him, not stopping until he is so close that Jim has to stand his ground or be moved. Hastily, he puts out a hand in front of him, and, for a moment, Spock ceases. But the rage is still there, eyes anger-bright. When he speaks, his voice is barely leashed. “I would like to remind you that I lost my entire _planet._ Everyone I ever loved besides my own father is _gone_. What do you have to compare to _that_?” he hisses.

For a moment he’s so shocked that he can’t find words. When he does they come out in a torrent, reminding him almost of that cocksure kid he’d been at the Academy, so unafraid of pain because he thought he’d felt it all already.

“First off, get the fuck out of my space, dude. Secondly, we all _know_ you’ve faced worse, but it’s not like I’m some fucking babe in arms. My father died, my stepfather physically abused me, I almost died of starvation on a colony planet—this was all before I had even turned 18, by the way. When I finally make it into Starfleet, my only other father figure is killed in front of my eyes. Then _I_ die and am brought back only to find out that the person who saved my life left me just like everyone else I ever cared about.

“Thirdly, I didn’t want to have this conversation to have a goddamn _pity party,_ for once in my life I’m trying to be the logical one and _solve the problem,_ not whine about it like I usually do. Finally, yes, we both need therapy, no, we’re too proud to get it. Does that about _cover everything to your satisfaction?_ ”

He sucks in a sudden, deep breath but feels none of it, chest panicky and light. “So I know you’re still hurt. And you have every right to be. And even if you hate me now, which you’re well within your rights to, by the way, I just want you to know that you hurt me too. Badly. And it _sucks_ to have spent the last year working my way through PT and trauma therapy with nobody but Bones, wondering what the hell I did wrong, only to have you come back and pretend that nothing ever happened. It sucks. That’s it.”

That’s all it takes for Spock to step back from where he has Jim cornered. He looks shell-shocked, struck, and falls quiet. A shaky sigh escapes Jim’s lips; he hadn’t realized until then what kind of tension he had been holding.

Across the room, Spock sits heavily in Jim’s desk chair, perfect posture abandoning him. A myriad of emotions flits across his face in the blink of an eye, and only one remains: shame. For a long time, they wait, silently, both hurting but too stubborn to admit it.

Finally, he responds. “I have been cruel to you, and to the others. But to you, most of all.” He looks up, meeting Jim’s eyes, and _goddamnit,_ he looks sad. “And for that reason I hope you will accept my resignation.”

Jim throws his hands up in the air, feeling hopeless. He can’t meet Spock’s eyes. “ _Fuck,_ are you obtuse? I don’t want you to leave. But you need to understand that I can’t just act like everything’s fine. I mean, I only escaped the rest of therapy because I outsmarted my psychologist.” He says the last part light-heartedly, returning to typical self-deprecation in order to ease the mood, but Spock only frowns.

“What I tried to do was for you. This is what you need to understand. I left, to purge my emotions, and to hopefully return to the crew one day when I could better serve.”

“Why did you feel like you needed to?”

Spock’s eyes flick up, down, up again, uncertain. His voice, when he speaks, is raspy and quiet. “Because I have lost everything I cared about, and been unable to save any of it. Watching Vulcan burn was the worst day of my life, but witnessing you die was the last straw. Vulcan was a planet, we arrived too late with too little knowledge. I was not directly responsible for saving its people. I did what I could. This is the only way I have managed to cope with such a loss.

“But you are my Captain. Not only that, you are my friend. My only duty on this ship is to protect you, and I could not do even that. Without emotions, I would be able to, if the time came.”

A sudden lump squeezes Jim’s throat tight. “But you _did_ ,” he chokes out. “Emotions and all. You chased Khan down because of your rage, you caught him and beat him so that we could bring him back. If it wasn’t for you, he would have escaped and I’d still be dead.”

“It would be more efficient.”

“It wouldn’t be _you_.”

Spock looks up at Kirk then, and to his astonishment there are twin tears shining in Spock’s eyes. “I do not understand how you can be so sure of who I am when I myself am not.”

“I don’t think you’re supposed to know. I think that’s what life’s all about. I think that’s why we have other people.”

“Perhaps you are right.” He sighs, blinking rapidly. “Jim, I am sorry. Truly. For my behavior. It is not what you deserve.”

Jim can’t help but crack a tremulous smile. Nothing is okay, but better. “Thank you. And I understand why, now. That doesn’t mean it was alright, but I understand. And I forgive you.”

Spock’s eyes shine with open gratitude as he stands from the chair. “That is more than I deserve.”

At that, he can’t help but laugh, clapping a quick hand to Spock’s shoulder. “Hey, remember what I said? Self-pity does _not_ look good on you. And besides, that’s my department.”

Spock doesn’t respond for so long that it almost becomes awkward, but his eyes are soft enough that Jim can’t bring himself to care. Just as he steps away, thinking the conversation done, Spock calls to him: “Jim.”

He glances back at Spock over his shoulder. “Yep?”

“You have always been more.”

For a moment, Jim’s confused. “Then what?”

Spock inclines his head. “Earlier you used it as a mantra for courage.” He frowns, then. “I am sorry, I did not mean to intrude upon your thoughts. But in times of personal stress, projection is common. And my shields were not as they should have been.”

Jim breathes out a laugh, not feeling offended in the slightest. This, at least, feels normal. “I’m more than Mom’s dusty house, is that what you mean?”

“Yes. Than the house, and the cornfields, and your black eyes, and your stepfather.”

“Since when?” He can’t help but ask.

Spock blinks at him coolly, but there’s something else behind the look he can’t decipher. “Not, perhaps, since the hearing. But the next time, when you burst onto the bridge. You were more already, then.”

He smiles. “Well, I’m glad _someone_ thought my intrusion wasn’t just the mark of a small-town jackass trying to get his five seconds of fame.”

“Not that,” says Spock, and there’s that curious look again. “You have always been more than Riverside. I meant, to me. You have been more _to me_ since your quick thinking saved my culture from extinction. And ever after.”

Before Jim can respond, or even parse the meaning, Spock is inclining his head, and closing the door to the bathroom. “Good night.”


	11. 2260.98

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But something has shifted. He doesn’t know what, or if it’s shifted for good or ill, but it has. Perhaps that’s why he’s doing this, in the hopes that it’s shifted in the right direction. Perhaps he’s wrong, and he’s leaping into an abyss that has heartbreak at the bottom. But right now, he’s just tired, and can’t stop the fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy new chapter, folks! We're out of the emotional woods for the moment, and back onto our regularly scheduled idiots in love! Enjoy!

2260.98

The door _hisses_ shut behind him and Jim immediately sinks to the floor, barely suppressing a groan. His head hurts. His chest hurts. In fact, everything hurts. One of his eyes is almost swollen shut, and there’s something wet on his forehead that he really doesn’t want to investigate.

Some trade deal. Honestly. 

He shuts his eyes, just for an instant, but then Spock’s voice floats to him through their bathroom. “Captain? Are you alright?”

He doesn’t reply. After the day of dealing with trade negotiations he’s just had, he doesn’t really want to talk to _anyone,_ even Spock.

“I know you’re in there, Jim,” says Spock, voice softer. “I heard the door close.”

He sighs, loudly, and stumbles to his feet. _Roommates._ He’d thought he’d escaped them after the Academy. Wasn’t the point of being the damn Captain to get some peace and quiet once in a while? “I’m peachy, Spock,” he replies finally, bracing himself on the closed door for steadiness. “No need to purse your pointy eyebrows over it.” The fact that they’ve been better, no longer on tenterhooks, no longer tripping around one another’s schedules and are somewhere on the road to being _friends_ again doesn’t mean he wants Spock to see _._

“I heard that the Arkanians were not interested in continuing negotiations. This is odd, as they have traded with us in the past. I was aware that this was to be nothing more than a formality.”

Jim laughs to himself softly. “Understatement of the fucking century. You should’ve been there, you’d’ve loved it.”

“I’m afraid I do not catch your meaning,” Spock says. From the position of his voice it seems like he’s come to stand in his doorway of their shared bathroom. Kirk grimaces and sits on the edge of his bed, careful not to show his face to Spock on the other side of the bathroom. “You know, getting to argue with people, _logically_ , maybe even doing your fancy nerve-pinch thing on some people. You say you’re not a violent species, but I see the way you taken down the other officers in… what is that martial art you do? Suus… Man?”

He can hear the half-smile slide through Spock’s voice. “The _Suus Mahna_ , Jim,” he says, tongue effortlessly slipping over the word. But then his voice grows concerned. If Jim concentrates, he can practically _sense_ the eyebrow rising. “It… did not go well for you. Elaborate. I have avoided rumors, as I was working on a project today. I did not feel the casual nature of the deal required my presence and monitoring from the bridge.”

Jim wipes a hand across his forehead and winces as he sees the red smeared upon it. At some point he’s going to have to clean up, why not now? He finally turns to Spock, bracing himself for the full weight of his XO’s displeasure. “It turns out that the Arkanians are _much,_ much stronger than humans. And I, being the Captain, took the brunt of their indignity.”

Spock’s eyebrows draw together in a worried way before his face is once again a blank slate. “Why haven’t you gone to Medical?” he asks, and then: "Why didn't you beam up immediately?"

Jim shrugs. “I thought I could salvage it. Guess I was wrong. Besides, I got out fine, didn't I? Anyway, Bones has enough on his plate with the survivors of the _Kanarin_ crash we picked up last week. I’ve got hypos and antiseptic here, and am reasonably sure I’m not concussed. I’ll make a note of it in the Captain’s log.”

But Spock is already rooting around in their bathroom cabinets, coming up a moment later with the first-aid kit stashed in the back corner. “Come here, Captain,” he says, voice brokering no argument.

Jim sighs. This is _exactly_ why he hadn’t wanted to talk to Spock. “I can handle it on my own, thank you,” he says.

“I am not aware I gave you a choice, Jim,” says Spock, still unwavering.

“I don’t think you can give me orders,” snipes Jim, but goes anyway, toeing off his boots on the way. He attempts a smile, but it turns into a pained scowl. “At least we’re not arguing tonight, so you won’t leave before you finish patching me up. Or, not yet, at least.” The last bit was punctuated with humor, and he almost drops in relief when Spock doesn’t tense up at it right away. Instead, Spock quirks an eyebrow at him, giving him one of those looks that says _you are not as funny as you think you are._ But then his eyes get serious. “Call it an apology, then, for all the times I should have stayed to look after you and did not.”

“You’ve already apologized,” says Jim, and, somehow, finds himself meaning it. “And I don’t like fighting.”

At that, Spock huffs out his equivalent of a laugh. “Your black eye begs to differ. And I’ve heard many stories from Lieutenant Uhura.”

He can’t help himself, he laughs, and then stifles a groan as his ribs clutch in pain. “Fighting with _you,_ I mean.”

Spock’s worried eyes soften back into that unreadable something, but at least the tension is gone. “I would have to agree. I am glad for you, and for our friendship. However, I would be far more glad if you stopped putting yourself in these situations.” The sarcastic smile is evident in his voice, and it makes Jim smile back.

“Tell that to Bones, he’s been seeing me through this shit for far longer than you have.”

He only gets a momentary glimpse of himself in the mirror, _God, he looks bad,_ before Spock is motioning for him to sit on the counter. Normally, he wouldn’t, but Spock is brandishing a hypo almost as scarily as Bones does, and honestly he’s too tired to argue. He sits carefully, so as not to jostle his ribs around again.

Spock, mouth a tight, thin line, gently tilts Kirk’s head up with a hand under his chin, and turns his head left to right, scrutinizing the damage. Whatever he sees makes his expression darken. “Permission to speak freely, Captain?” he asks, voice tightly reined.

Kirk snorts a laugh. “We’re in our own damn quarters, Spock.”

Spock tilts his head in acquiescence, eyes flickering from Kirk’s jawline up. His dark gaze is very serious as it lands on Kirk’s. “Knowing what I know now, I would be more than happy to practice my _Suus Mahna_ on some Arkanians,” he says.

In one sudden and surprisingly fluid motion, he steps between the vee of Kirk’s legs, pressing a cloth to his forehead. Kirk shuts his eyes halfway at it, tries to lean back into the mirror, but Spock catches his shoulder with an iron grip. “Sit up straight, Captain,” he says, a wry, small smile twisting his mouth, “or I’ll be forced to sedate you.”

“And you’d find yourself booted onto the next L-class planet,” snipes Jim, but there’s no real threat in it. Spock’s eyes sparkle with amusement as he swipes the cloth across the cut on Jim’s forehead.

Gently, so gently, Spock finishes looking at Jim’s forehead, placing antibiotic and a small bandage over the cut there. Gently, so gently, he pokes at Jim’s black eye and bruised cheek, and dots numbing cream over them. Gently, so gently, he rubs the dried blood from Jim’s split lip.

They are close. Jim credits the throbbing head and exhaustion that it takes him _this long_ to realize just how close. Himself, sitting on the bathroom counter, legs wide and hands gripping the edge of the counter as if for dear life. And Spock, standing between his legs, one hand on Jim’s shoulder to brace him and the other cupping his chin.

It’s like everything is stuttering, time skipping in piece-parts instead of flowing like smooth water. An errant thumb brushes over his lip. It pauses there to rest against the corner of his mouth. Spock glances up from his scrutiny. He glances away again just as quickly. Time is measured in non-overlapping parts only punctuated by his increasing heartbeat. When he breathes in, just a little, Spock’s scent, that faint and foreign incense, fills his nose. When he breathes out, just a little, Spock’s incorrigible bangs ruffle with the brief spell of air.

He’s so _tired_. He blames it on this, and his swiftly guttering impulse control, as he drops his head onto Spock’s shoulder. They’re okay. They’re not fighting. Spock doesn’t hate him, and he doesn’t hate Spock, and over the last twenty some-odd days they’ve regained some sense of their former equilibrium.

But something has shifted. He doesn’t know what, or if it’s shifted for good or ill, but it has. Perhaps that’s why he’s doing this, in the hopes that it’s shifted in the right direction. Perhaps he’s wrong, and he’s leaping into an abyss that has heartbreak at the bottom. But right now, he’s just tired, and can’t stop the fall.

Burying his nose in Spock’s grey civvie sweater, he just _breathes,_ letting the smell of their rooms wash into him. This little home, here among the stars. “Today was shit,” he says, voice muffled a little by the mouthful of sweater. “Burning, stinking _shit._ ” Untethered, unwound. He’s floating in space, and time is stuttering, and exhaustion is making his brain go to putty.

Devoid of conscious thought or reason, he unclenches the hands that had been so locked to the counter and loosely wraps them around Spock’s midsection. It’s less of an embrace and more of a drape, until his fingers finally find anchorage at Spock’s waist.

Spock says nothing, just breathes out a sigh that Jim wouldn’t have noticed was shaky if they weren’t pressed together, emotionally and physically, in a hundred little ways. Slowly, the hand on his shoulder snakes further onto his back, curling into his bloody uniform shirt. Spock’s other arm curls around him, too, until they’re just embracing, there in the fluorescents of their bathroom. Jim closes his eyes.

“I should have been there,” says Spock quietly, after a long moment. His voice rumbles in Jim’s ears, pressed against his chest. “If I had been, they wouldn’t have touched you.”

“If you had been,” smiles Jim, “We’d have gotten that trade deal after all. No one can resist a Vulcan.”

“You can,” says Spock quietly. His hands are hot on the swell of Kirk’s back. The scent of incense, of dry desert herbs he doesn’t recognize, is all he can smell.

“Less and less,” he murmurs finally. “Less and less.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> probably breaking a few starfleet regs by having spock not knowing what's going on down at the landing party site, but I like to think he took the opportunity to have somebody else competent have the con so that he could extremely involved in his work as he knew jim would be performing nothing more than a routine formality
> 
> hopefully that doesn't make anybody TOO annoyed :)


	12. 2260.104

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So he asks again: are you alright?
> 
> Now the answer comes quickly, curt and to the point: No.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a shorter chapter here, folks-- we're headed into the home stretch with this story! This is a little bit of filler/expo, a lot more action coming up pronto!
> 
> CM

2260.104

[StarfleetCommandChatCoolest]

[Members: capnsexy, cmdrsarcasm, hsmanalsosexy, esntiny, drtired, ltperfecthair, engrsinglemalt]

2255: capsexy: these are our final forms y’all. youll notice i set the chat so that nobody can change their names now. boom. problem solved spock.

2255: capnsexy: youll also notice how well i know all of you to set such Fun and Fantastic and Appropriate names for every1. u can thank ur illustrious captain whenever you would like.

2256: capnsexy: on another awesome note, first shore leave tomorrow! everybody get excited! weve got 3 days ashore, only leaving skeleton crew onboard. we dock at 0900 tomorrow. wait for my official announcement 2nite for more details.

2257: capnsexy: all the senior staff has one job 2morrow, appointed by me ur captain: find the best bar. none of us have ever been to xanar base b4 so everyone find a candidate for best bar and send it to the chat. we’ll have a vote and meet there tomorrow night at 2200. savvy?

2258: drtired: just for making all of us read your heinous texts AND deal with your heinous chat names, you’re buying first round. capiche?

2259: capnsexy: fine

* * *

Jim’s comm buzzes, and he pulls it out of his pocket. He has to squint against the Xanar afternoon sun to read it, putting a hand over his eyes. It’s Spock.

_There’s been much talk today on the command chat about visiting a bar this evening._

He sighs through his nose. **im not expecting you to come dont worry**

The next message buzzes in only half a second later. _This was not my query, Jim. In fact, I was planning on coming._

 _That’s_ a surprise. But before Jim can properly react to it, another message _pings_ through: _I do have two questions, however._

**yes?**

_They are both relating to my Vulcan nature._

When nothing else arrives, Jim is finally forced to type, again: **yes?**

**** _This is a primarily human colony, and we are a primarily human crew. The first of my questions: would it look out of place if I were to attend in Vulcan dress? I fear I do not have much else, save that and my Starfleet uniform. In addition, clothing aside, my hair is still quite recognizable._

**u could go in ur vulcan stuff if u want. you can go in your fleet stuff if you want. i’ll beat up anybody who looks at you sideways. hell u could beat up anybody who looks at u sideways. but if u want, we’re about the same size. and ive got plenty of hairgel. **

**so whats ur second q?**

_Again, this is a primarily human colony. Would there be any substances here that would affect me?_

He has to tread very lightly here. **do u… want them to affect u?**

_Yes._

Apparently today is full of surprises. Not knowing what else to say, but feeling he has to say something, he types back: **are you alright?**

The reply, when it comes through, is strangely defensive. _Am I not allowed to partake if I wish?_

 _Stubborn obstinate Vulcan,_ he thinks, typing: **i never said that! u just never do. humans drink for 2 reasons, because they want to have more fun or because they want to forget they’re not having fun. so is it the former or the latter?**

_Is it a fair answer to say that I am not yet certain?_

At that, he can’t help but huff a laugh. **uve no idea how many of my best nights started that way**

_I spoke to the Vulcans we are transporting today._

_Oh_. Now everything made sense. The Enterprise’s newest mission, since they were still making their slow and meandering way out of the known universe, was to transport three Vulcan dignitaries from Xanar to Outpost Seven, where they’d be picked up aboard a resupply mission to the colony on New Vulcan. Kirk had meant to intercept them, at least to get a read on them, since Spock had been so oddly melancholic towards himself and his people lately. But apparently they’d gotten to Spock first. He supposes it’s always a possibility that Spock had sought them out, but considering their recent conversations, that seems somehow unlikely. After all, Spock was practically famous—and in the Vulcans’ eyes, for more bad reasons than good. The man who had abandoned his people to selfishly set out among the stars, or the man unwanted by his people, not Vulcan enough to help rebuild, not human enough to find a home Earthside, depending on your point of view.

So he asks again, **are you alright?**

Now the answer comes quickly, curt and to the point: _No._

**can I kick someone’s ass?**

_Not unless you’d like to be swiftly removed from your post._

**it was a joke, relax**

_I am aware, Captain._

_On edge, much_? Kirk thinks to himself. He types back a quick **sorry, see you 2nite then?**

_I shall meet you at your quarters at 2000._

**why so early?**

_You mentioned that you might help me look less Vulcan, for the evening?_

He refrains from asking what he’s really thinking. **20 it is then!**

When no further comms come from Spock, he puts his communicator away again and sticks his hands in his pockets, walking without purpose or direction. Xanar is a beautiful, modern city, with millions of people all striding around. But for some reason, he can’t take joy in any of it, mind still stuck on their odd conversation, Spock’s suddenly mercurial mood. It’s as if his certainty has been removed, and with it, Jim’s as well. He hadn’t realized just how much he’d relied on Spock to be a strong and sure presence until the moment he wasn’t. Something needs to be done, but what?

When a sign across the street catches his eye, he knows exactly what to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case it wasn't clear enough:   
> capnsexy: Kirk  
> cmdrsarcasm: Spock  
> hsmanalsosexy: Sulu  
> enstiny: Chekov  
> drtired: Bones  
> ltperfecthair: Uhura (I like to think Mr. Scotty "James Tiberius Perfect Hair" Scott had a hand in making this one)  
> engrsinglemalt: Scotty


	13. 2260.104 Continued

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There’s something dangerous about the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They skate ever closer to the truth.

2260.104 Continued 

Besides a proof-of-concept test, he waits to turn the heat on, metaphorically and physically, until the last possible second.

If anything, today has been a review of coding. To his credit, Scotty hadn’t questioned when Jim had come up to him and asked his help in hijacking the environmental controls in a very tiny, very specific corner of the ship, nor when Jim had slyly mentioned the need to _not_ send alarms to HQ, worlds away, about a ship gone haywire.

The other parts of the plan he sets in motion himself: the purchase, the hustle back to the ship to get ready, the tracking code he writes and sends to Spock’s comm, disguised as a message meant for somebody else, and the way the tiny tracker _pings_ Spock’s progress, across Xanar and back to the Enterprise for their 2000 rendezvous.

He’s meticulously calculated how long it will take before the effects of his meddling in the controls are actually _felt,_ and waits until he has exactly enough time before he comms Scotty and sets his little subroutine in motion. Then, he sneaks across their bathroom and sets the small box in an obvious location, directly in the middle of Spock’s bed.

His comm beeps. Spock is 15 minutes away. “Computer,” he says, “set the temperature in this room to 45 degrees Celsius and drop the humidity to 5%.”

“That is above the range of the current environmental controls which dictate safe human living conditions.”

“Run subroutine Gamma-4-5-Alpha-Bravo, permission Kirk, James T.”

The computer says nothing more, but systems start to whirr and the room starts to get warmer. “Scotty,” he says into the comm, “It’s working.”

“Bonny, lad,” says Scotty, a moment later, sounding pleased with himself. “But remember: ye just cannae leave it on for o’er an hour or it’ll actually damage the ship.”

“I set the subroutine to automatically deactivate in 45 minutes.”

“Perfect.” There’s a pause. “Why’d ye say ye were doing this again?”

Kirk huffs a laugh. “Get enough drinks in me tonight and I just might tell you. I’ll see you then.”

“Aye, man,” says Scotty.

His clock reads 1947. Spock’s location reads that he’s on his way back to the ship.

On the bathroom mirror he writes:

**spice tea and desert heat**

**it’s not Vulcan, but I hope it’s something**

Then he settles himself into his desk chair, pulls up some overdue files, and waits.

* * *

At exactly 2000, the door to Spock’s chambers _woosh_ open and Jim listens. He barely gets a step inside before stopping. Jim can barely hold in his glee. The footsteps cross to the bed, hesitate for a moment, and then into the bathroom. “Jim.” The tone is even, but something in it sounds brittle and about to crack.

“Yep?” he asks, all casual.

“What is this?”

Kirk jerks his shoulder into a shrug. “You had a bad day. I was hoping this could be the start to a better one.”

When he turns, Spock looks oddly touched. Jim realizes belatedly that he’s cradling the small wooden box of tea he’d bought. “I am… surprised you remembered. I am also surprised that you knew of the reasons behind my discontent and connected the two together.”

He smiles. “I know some. I guessed some too. Now, come on. Pick some clothes and tell me all about it.”

“I do not wish to speak on it.”

“Then make some weird tea, pick some clothes, and we won’t talk at all.”

It’s a strange mirror of an evening almost a week and a half before: Jim, bloody and bruised, sitting on the counter, and Spock, fixing him up again, careful and sure. He hadn’t been able to sleep, afterward, despite his exhaustion. He knows exactly why.

His bruises have essentially healed, and his headache is gone, and so there’s no need for him to be fixed up. But they are still here, at the halfway point, and tonight it is Spock on the counter, trying to sneak glances of himself over his shoulder in the mirror.

He looks… odd. Not bad, but odd. Jim has plenty of civvies, and had given Spock the full reign of his closet as promised. Spock had picked a combination of things that would have looked off-putting on anyone else but on him just seem right: a pair of worn old ankle boots of Jim’s from the Iowa days, neatly cuffed, tight-fitting pants, and his own Starfleet regulation black undershirt. Jim had considered him for a moment, assessing, before offering Spock the beat-up old leather jacket at the back of the closet. He’d been planning to wear it to the bar, but something about the tilt of Spock’s shoulders, and the set of his jaw, oddly dangerous, oddly ignited, made him offer it instead.

Spock had shrugged it over his shoulders as if it was made for him, and Jim had closed his eyes, willing himself to calm. _If I look any longer,_ he had thought, _I’ll combust._

So now they are in the bathroom, Spock sitting on the counter and Jim carefully slicking hair gel into Spock’s perfect cut, roughing it up and making it look something far from regulation. Neither of them speak. It is an odd, pregnant silence.

When Jim pulls his eyes from Spock’s hairline, deeming it imperfect enough, Spock’s gaze is already on him, on his mouth. Heavy. But neither of them move.

After a long, waiting moment, he steps away.

* * *

There’s something dangerous about the night.

They’re late, just slightly, and so it’s just them when they exit the Enterprise and make out for the city. Spock has a determined, rebellious twist to his mouth that Jim has never seen before, and his steps are iron-sure and quick. When he turns to Jim to say something, his mouth curves into something just south of seditious, and his eyes spark with a private joke. It feels wild, somehow, untamed, like whatever conversation Spock and the Vulcans had had, whatever he’d improved or not improved by messing with the environmental controls, had released some version of Spock unbound by stiff rules.

It’s odd.

When they get in, the crew’s already commandeered a back table, and they’re smiling, laughing, pressing a drink into his hands. Beside him, Spock accepts a glass from Bones and settles down heavy into a chair. He says something to Uhura in Vulcan, and she smiles a nasty little smile. “Fuck em, then.”

Spock raises an eyebrow at her. “While I do not care for the turn of phrase, you are not altogether wrong.”

Nyota gives him a smile, then her eyes get serious, and she asks something else in Vulcan.

Spock’s eyes flick to Kirk’s, for just a second, and away again. “Perhaps.”

Kirk sits down, saying hello to Bones and Scotty. Spock’s gaze is back on him, considering, and the unhinged feeling returns. It’s like the world is spinning on its axis. He doesn’t know why. 

* * *

Around midnight, Sulu and Chekov somehow get everyone up and push them to the dance floor. Scotty is grinning, grabbing Uhura’s hand, and even Bones is smiling at a pretty lady across the bar. Kirk turns to Spock but Spock is gone, Spock is at the bar and he’s been talked to, his hip is jutted against the bar, long legs like sin, and a molasses-haired man is talking to him, leaning in close, and suddenly Jim feels cold.

So he takes Uhura’s proffered hand, and he dances. He doesn’t look at Spock at the bar, look at his dangerous expression and the way the man he’s talking to buys him another drink, and he doesn’t look at Spock when he slips out of the bar. _I am a fool,_ he thinks, and he takes another shot.

When he steps outside five, ten, fifteen minutes later, time flowing like syrup, to get air, Spock’s dark hair, on a bench just outside the bar, catches his eye. “Thought you left,” he says. Trying for casual, and missing the mark. 

Spock lifts his head, exhales deliberately, and, in perhaps the most surprising turn of events all night, smoke drifts into the air. “Are you… are you _smoking_?”

“Yes,” offers Spock simply.

“Where’d your buddy go?”

Spock gives him a calculating look. “He wanted nothing to do with me, once I explained. I was testing a theory and he agreed to help.”

Kirk sighs out of his nose, confused and jealous and feeling too drunk. “What theory?”

Wordlessly, Spock offers him the cigarette, and he takes a long draw. It’s not an answer, but a peace offering, and he’s too drunk to fight. He exhales smoke out into the night air, genuine Marlboro, so many light years from Earth. He doesn’t even want to know where Spock had gotten it.

Beside him, Spock stands abruptly. “Dance with me.”

“You… _what_?”

Spock’s gaze is unwavering and heavy, and he extends a hand. “Dance with me.”

“I didn’t know you knew how.”

“My mother taught me many years ago.” He jerks his head, once more, not a request but a command, and Jim is lost.

* * *

They are very close, close enough to share breath. Spock’s steps are sure, their hands and bodies pressed together in a million little ways. “You’re drunk,” says Jim. He's drunk too, with alcohol and stinging want and the possibility of reciprocity. He's too gone not to pretend. 

“Yes,” says Spock, halfway a whisper, and then suddenly twirls Jim into a fast spin that leaves him breathless and giddy as a little kid. “But that does not mean I do not want it when I am not so… impaired.”

“You call this impairment?” he laughs, feeling happiness bubble in and up and and out of him. “I don’t call it impairment until I’m on the floor.”

Spock’s eyes are dark and amused. “Did you know there’s security footage of your bar fight, in Riverside?”

He huffs out a laugh, clasping Spock’s hand tighter. “No.”

Spock inclines his head gracefully, taking them into another turn. “Captain Pike made me watch it, the day I told him I accepted a position to be your first officer. He said I should know the man I was serving.”

“Sounds like him,” Jim agrees, laughing.

They sway, in silence, for another few minutes, but then the bar doors burst open and Scotty and Bones fly out, arm in arm, singing unintelligibly. Uhura and Sulu and Chekov stream out behind, and regretfully, Kirk breaks away.

* * *

Somehow (he doesn’t remember much of this part) they make it back into the officer’s lounge. At some point, he’s swaying, and at some point, they’re all singing, and at some point when they all flop down onto couches, they’re all passing a flask around and the night gets hazier.

The next thing he remembers is this: getting up to feel his way back to bed and Spock, stumbling wildly on his feet, getting up to follow him. “Jim,” he says, “I do not think I can make it all on my own.”

Kirk deposits Spock onto his bed but then slips on his own feet and suddenly he’s on the bed himself, lying beside Spock, and they’re both giggling like schoolchildren until they both fall silent. Their shoes are still on.

After a moment, Spock speaks. “I tried out being human for a night. After the other Vulcans and I talked, I wished to attempt.” His eyes are steadfastly trained on the ceiling. “Did you like it?”

When the answer comes, it comes suddenly. “No,” he says, honest.

Now Spock turns towards Jim, eyes full of tiredness and whiskey and relief. “That is fortunate. Neither did I.” He blinks, long and tired. “Computer, lights to zero.”

Jim means to get up and stumble back to his own bed, he really does, but he’s just closing his eyes for a second before he goes. But as he’s about to go (he really is!), Spock speaks again, hazy with sleep. “Jim.”

“Mm?”

He sighs, ruffling the bedclothes. “That man at the bar. He desired me. I desired only to make you jealous.” There’s another moment of silence. “Was I correct in my assumptions?”

The frankness of it would surprise him, if he was awake enough to notice. Now, his eyes are sliding shut again and his brainpower is slowly draining to nil, so he only _mhmms._

“Fascinating,” slurs Spock, just as tired, and Jim falls asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> can you tell 2020 has me lonely?  
> 
> 
> don't worry, the true confession is coming soon


	14. 2260.105

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When he was ten, his brother had taught him how to throw a punch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you miss me?
> 
> Don't worry, I never planned to abandon this fic! Unfortunately, pandemic, Christmas, grad school hunting, falling in love, and preparing to graduate college got in the way a little bit. But I'm here now! There will only be a few more chapters (probably around 2-3) and they're mostly already written! 
> 
> I can't guarantee when the next update will be. but I can guarantee there will be an update. Never ye fear, my brave readers!
> 
> Until then, enjoy!
> 
> \--CM

2260.105

When he wakes the next morning, eyes sticky and head pounding, he’s looking at a different ceiling. He doesn’t know _why_ it’s different exactly, all the Starfleet ship ceilings are the same, but somehow it is. His brain is soft, full of mush, like that shitty nasty sludge the replicators produce when somebody punches in a 2 instead of a 3 in the code for oatmeal. He blinks, slowly, staring at it.

It takes him another long moment, staring at a slightly different ceiling, listening to slightly different ambient noises, breathing, _too warm,_ before he remembers suddenly what had happened and sits up so suddenly he rolls out of bed, _Spock’s bed, the bed he’d fallen asleep in._

He crashes unceremoniously to the floor. “Ow.” And then, _oh, dear god please let that not wake Spock up—_ “Jim?”

Spock’s face, hair more disheveled than Jim’s ever seen, pops up over the edge of the bed. His eyes are hooded with sleep and his mouth crinkles down at the corners as he presses a elegant hand to his temple. “Are you well?”

Jim closes his eyes for a long, long moment, composing himself. “Peachy.”

Spock gives him a tired half-smile. “Is this why you were frequently fatigued during my courses at the Academy? I understand now.”

“Don’t tell me you’ve never been drunk before,” he grumbles, painfully scooping himself off of the floor.

“I have,” says Spock. “Only not entirely to this extent.”

Jim’s lurches to his feet, head swimming, and is faced with the terrifying and wonderful sight of Spock in bed, sitting half-wrapped in blankets, legs splayed, scrubbing a hand through his hair. He meets Jim’s eyes tiredly, a tiny, soft smile arcing across his face. It’s there for just a moment, there and away again. Faced with that smile, Jim’s brain short-circuits, and he’s just standing there, like a dumbass, staring back at Spock. Never before has someone been able to so undo him with nothing more than a single look.

“I should shower,” he says, finally, clearing his throat.

Spock nods.

Fifteen minutes later, they meet in the hallway, and Jim hands Spock two hangover pills, and they eat breakfast together like nothing had happened.

* * *

Later that day, he’s somewhere in the middle of the city, aimlessly wandering like he’d loved to do back on Earth and making the most of his three days planet-side when Bones comms him.

“Jim,” Bones says. He sounds like he’s been running, quick and pointed and anxious, all command, all protection, all sharp-edged and brilliant Dr. McCoy. The tone of it sets him off immediately.

“What is it?”

“The Vulcans. You know, the ones we’re transporting. They’re here.”

“What, _now?_ ” He curses under his breath. “Door crew had orders not to let them aboard for two days!”

“I know, Jimbo. Apparently they threatened their way aboard. And Jim?”

“Yeah.”

Bones pauses. It’s a pregnant pause, that pause, and when he speaks again his voice is tight, and angry. “It’s Spock.”

Kirk doesn’t need to hear anything else. “Find Spock and meet me there in two minutes. I’m on my way.” He dials a new frequency. “Transport. Beam me back, now.”

The transporter tech seems confused. “Captain, sir, I have a read on your location. You’re no more than ten minutes’ walk from the ship.”

“That’s an _order_ ,” he hisses. 

* * *

A moment later, he strides past the frightened transporter tech and slams his hand to the computer on the wall to ask for the location of Commander Spock.

“Sir?” asks the tech. “What’s going on?”

“Not now, Lieutenant.” The computer _pings_ back his answer, warm-body count showing Spock and three others in one of the upper hallways, along with a fourth rounding the corner—the three Vulcans and Bones, he assumes. He wants to run, but that will only gain him 30 seconds at best; he needs to be the Captain. He needs to be calm.

It takes him only a few minutes to reach the hall, and when he rounds the corner, pretending that he’s just passing through, that he didn’t mean to find them there, the first thing he sees is the three Vulcans, blocking Spock against the wall. Spock isn’t small, he’s taller than Kirk, but the three Vulcans are looming over him like Spock himself had done to Kirk so many years ago, ceremonial dress robes touching the floor.

He’s already thinking of what he might say, something along the lines of _Gentleman! We didn’t expect you here so early!_ or _Is the ship to your liking?_ but just as Bones comes into view and meets Jim’s eyes, one of the Vulcans says: “If you do not come back, you are a traitor to our people.”

Jim sees red even at _that_ , but then one of the other Vulcans, the tallest one, laughs. He’s never heard a Vulcan laugh besides Spock, and this laugh is _wrong_ somehow, not made for humor. “He’s not _our_ people. He should have been culled at birth.”

Out of the corner of his vision, Bones’ eyes widen, as if he knows what Jim’s about to do before he’s even moved. He probably does, he’s seen Jim through enough years to know him better than about anyone.

When he was ten, his brother had taught him how to throw a punch. Straight arm, keep your thumb on the outside of your fist, look where you’re hitting. Throw your body weight behind it. Don’t think about how much it will hurt. Don’t think about what comes after. Don’t stop to wonder if it’s a good idea, decking someone who’s essentially superhuman.

He touches the shoulder of the Vulcan nearest to him, the one who’d laughed, and the whole group turns. He gets an instant of widened eyebrows, mouths opening to the _C_ in _Captain,_ before he slams his fist into the lead Vulcan’s jaw.

Somehow, _somehow,_ it snaps his head to the side. Surprise, perhaps? He doesn’t have long to consider, because the three of them are advancing forwards towards him, fury in their eyes. “Spock is three times the man any of you could ever hope to be,” he hisses. “And this is _my ship._ So leave him the _fuck_ alone.”

The leader, the one he’d decked, is angrier than he’s ever seen a Vulcan look, even Spock, eyes lidded and cold, mouth a thin, thin line. “We are not a fighting people, Captain Kirk, but exceptions have been made.”

Jim just sighs internally, squaring his feet with the slightest of motions. He’s preparing to defend himself, even though he _knows_ this will end with a concussion and a night in medbay. But Spock, who until now has been a fly on the wall that Jim’s been steadfastly refusing to look at, says: “Wait.”

It’s quiet, and unsure, and so much unlike his normal tone of voice that it makes Jim, and Bones, and the three Vulcans pause. “Captain Kirk was defending me. If… if there is a fight to be had, I will fight it in his stead.”

But the lead Vulcan, sporting the beginnings of a wonderful puffy lip, simply scoffs. “It would be a dishonor to fight either of you. You are not worthy of our time.” He turns on his heel, cold and dramatic, and the other two follow. “Starfleet has done us a great injustice today. We will be disembarking immediately. It is probable that the terms of New Vulcan’s treaty with the Federation will be amended after this slight.”

And, saying nothing else, the three of them tap buttons on their wrists, _personal transporters, when did the VSA come up with those?_ and dematerialize.

With the warm body count in the hallway reduced by half, Spock slumps against the wall, looking uncharacteristically exhausted, and Jim shakes out his stinging hand. Bones dashes over. “Jim, what did you do?” 

He shakes his head. “Probably fucked up some ‘Fleet stuff, but, hey, what’s new? Can’t be the golden boy forever, huh?” Begrudgingly, he allows Bones to look at his hand—likely to be bruised, but nothing major.

“You… you should not have done it,” says Spock, after a moment. “It was my burden to bear.”

“You’re ours,” says Kirk, cold and angry and shocked himself by the force of his conviction. “Fuck ‘em. Shitheads.”

Spock blinks, an expression not unlike gratitude and shame flickering across his face. “My people…” he cuts off, looking at his feet and back up, “…the Vulcans, they are not a forgiving race. Starfleet Command will be angry with us. They will likely seek to take away your command. It is probable that soon, you will have the wrath of two worlds to answer to.”

“I’m not forgiving either, when _my_ people are hurt,” Jim says. He glances at the two of them—Spock, beaten down, leaning against the wall, Bones, fiddling with a medkit, righteous anger and concern warring for dominance on his face, the two most dear people to him on all the Earth, in all the universe—and he knows there’s only one thing left to do.

He flips his comm up with his left hand. “Kirk to bridge.”

Sulu, on conn, answers a moment later. “Captain.”

“How many of our crew are still in port?”

There’s a moment’s silence, punctuated by keyboard tapping, as Sulu checks. “Thirty-seven,” he says, after a moment. “Most have returned for the evenine already.”

“Get them back on board, ASAP. Tell them whatever you need to. And get emergency undocking permission. We leave in an hour. I’ll pay them double for today and tomorrow.” He pauses. “Is Uhura there?”

After a moment her voice comes through the comm. “Captain?”

“I’m assuming you just heard my orders. If any of the thirty-seven have questions, pipe their comms directly to mine. I’m on my way to the bridge.”

“Captain?” asks Uhura. “Is something wrong?”

He considers for a long moment. “Maybe. I’ll explain when we’re gone. But either way, I don’t want to be here to find out.”

Bones nods at him, mouth a resolute line. He already knows what Jim is doing; that nod is taciturn support. “I’ll go get a hypo for your hand.”

“Thank you,” says Jim, but they both know it’s not for the hypo. Bones gives them a long look, but says nothing else, before he retreats. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Spock’s face tighten. “Captain. You cannot do this.”

“Every single person on this ship would stand with you, you know that? Over those pricks.”

“That is not the point. The point is that you are disobeying a direct order. The point is that you assaulted an ambassador. The point is that as your second, protocol dictates me to court-martial you, at this instant.”

“I got us off of Nibiru, I can sure as hell get us out of here.”

“That is not the point.”

“Then what is? I’m not going to sit here and watch you be insulted by them! I won’t do it!”

“They have valid reasoning,” says Spock, though he sounds morose about it. “I should be going back, to help the Vulcans. They have lost much.”

It doesn’t escape Jim how suddenly the other Vulcans are a _they_ and not a _we_ , and it pulls at him. “Is that what they wanted? For you to go back with them?”

“I believe so.”

“Are you going to?”

“I do not know.”

Jim sighs. “Stay or go,” he finally says, feeling like he’s being ripped apart, “but they don’t deserve you.”

“It is I who does not deserve. I do not deserve what you are trying to do for me.”

“Don’t say that.”

“But—”

Jim surges forward, pressing a hand to Spock’s shoulder, needing to feel the weight of him, the warmth of him. “ _Don’t_ say that.”

Spock looks at him, dark eyes unreadable. “I—”

“ _Don’t._ If you don’t let me do it, I’ll make Bones sedate you till we’re out of this system into unknown space and I’ve sorted this mess out. It’s my mess, it was my choice.” He expels a breath, hand on Spock’s shoulder tightening. “If you want to leave, there’ll be a warp-capable shuttle on standby for you as soon as I get to the bridge.”

“As soon as we get to the bridge,” says Spock, obviously trying to be cool and rational and calm, but his voice shakes the tiniest bit as he says it.

“You’re off until Alpha tomorrow. Direct from me. If I see you in the labs, you’re demoted.” He squeezes Spock’s shoulder once, and then steps away.

Spock’s eyes soften minutely, but he says nothing, and allows Jim to leave him standing in the hall. It says more about his mental state than words ever could.

But despite Jim’s roiling emotions, and despite Spock’s shattered face, he can’t spare a thought for that right now. They need to leave the system, before the inevitable new orders from Starfleet comes, before his ship is taken from him _again_ and he’s court-martialed.

He thinks about deep space, unknown space. Xanar is one of the last ports of the ‘Fleet inhabited universe. After New Vulcan, they would have been off, anyway. They’re only a few days ahead of schedule. Productivity, distilled.

He thinks about Pike, and he thinks about Iowa, and he thinks about his throbbing hand, and the tall Vulcan saying _you should have been culled at birth_. He thinks about consequences. He thinks about Spock’s rugs, and the way the shower is sometimes too hot. He thinks about asking forgiveness, not permission. He thinks about his crew. He thinks about waking up in Spock’s bed, just that morning. He thinks about dancing, and cigarettes, and jealousy. He thinks about all the things he wants to do. He thinks of all the things they haven’t yet done.

He thinks: _no matter what happens, it was worth it._

And he goes to the bridge. There’s work to do. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did y'all enjoy my foreshadowing in chap 12? >;)
> 
> fun times ahead. 
> 
> here there be dragons.


	15. 2260.105 Continued

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because going to deep space, seeing all the wonders of the universe, First Contact—it doesn’t mean anything without Spock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so glad you all are excited to keep reading! I for one am excited to keep writing! 
> 
> Home stretch, lovelies! Probably two more chapters? This is my guess. One of them is totally written, one is just planned. Perhaps an epilogue as well. 
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> \--CM

2260.105 continued

The call from Starfleet comes three hours after they undock, as they’re proceeding at Warp Factor Two out of the known universe. He’d explained everything to the crew, first the bridge crew, and then the rest—and, as he’d expected, they’d supported him. They’d been a crew for months now, and had known each other for years before that. They’d saved each other in more ways than one. He’d trust any of them with his life- and, he had.

The science crew had been the most incensed—with good reason. Spock worked them hard, but they appreciated him, they valued him. None of them would stand for it. Spock’s second, a tiny but intimidating woman named Neerja, was in such a rage about it he feared steam was going to come out of her ears. At that, he made his way down to the labs himself, something he didn’t often do but was more than willing to spare the time for today, and willed them to calm. “If there’s a fight to be had, I know who to call first,” he’d said, and winked at them. “But the best thing you can do now to help our dear Mr. Spock is to keep working at maximum efficiency, so that no one falls behind on account of him. In fact, he told me yesterday that a few of you were coming up with protocol for late-stage bioreactors for microbial processing of radan into dilithium? I’ve seen the theoretical metabolism behind it, you’d need incredible amounts of proton pumps just to generate enough of an electron transport chain. Work on that. I’m sure he’d be pleased if you could find a viable way to scale it up. And don’t forget to properly shield your reactors—our CMO has enough on his plate without having to treat radiation damage.”

They’d stared at him, open-mouthed, for a few minutes, before Shanai, the lead of xenomicrobio, had leaped into action, eyes ablaze no longer with furious anger, but now with the excitement of possibility. Many of the others trailed after her, but Neerja had stayed behind, giving him a wry smile. “Distracting us, huh? It’s smart.”

He’d grinned. “Distracting myself, too. I don’t get to play the nerd much any more.” Clapping her on the shoulder, he’d said: “He’ll be fine.”

Back on the bridge, Sulu had punched a course to _everywhere_ , as he called it, Chekov had made everyone tea without asking, Jim had surreptitiously wired thirty-seven people hazard pay, and they’d sped out of the universe. You could have cut the tension on the bridge with a knife. Everyone was working at scary efficiency, but not speaking. Every time someone in blue moved out of the corner of his eye, he’d resisted the urge to glance behind and see if it was Spock. Chekov’s sunny enthusiasm was gone, as was Uhura’s constant quiet humming. Bones, appearing up from medbay, nervously drummed his fingers without cessation on the back of Jim’s chair. Without anyone actually saying it, they’d all been waiting.

Waiting for the call that Uhura was patching onto the screen.

“Full stop warp, impulse only,” Kirk says to Sulu. The lines tighten around Sulu’s face, but the helmsman nods, the telltale _ker-chunk_ of the ship dropping out of warp coming a moment later. “Onscreen,” says Uhura, from behind him. “It’s Komack himself.”

“They really didn’t hesitate, did they?” hisses Kirk. In his mind, he mentally runs through what he wants to say, one more time, before the stars on the vidscreen fade and Fleet Admiral Komack’s face appears.

“Admiral,” says Kirk, smiling brightly but not feeling it. _This better work._ Behind him, he can feel the bridge crew tense. McCoy’s hand, bracing on the back of his hair, tightens. He wished Spock were here, but the damn Vulcan would probably try to self-sabotage, so, well, better not. They’re so stupidly similar sometimes that it kills him to dwell on it. “Here to wish us well for our journey into the unknown?”

“Don’t bullshit me, Captain, you know exactly why I’m here.”

Kirk scrubs a hand over his face, steels himself. “Actually, I don’t know why you’re here. I defended my First Officer from what I deemed to be a threat against his life. Last I checked, according to General Regs 51.24 and 614.9, as well as Field Regs 223.4 and 17, there’s nothing wrong with that.”

Komack gives him a flat look. On the bridge, you could have heard a pin drop. “I’m _here_ because you assaulted a Vulcan diplomat, a member of the Federation, a person you’d sworn to provide safe transport to, without good cause. I’m _here_ because the Vulcan High Council has demanded you give up your ship and issue a formal apology. Is that quite clear?”

“Do you know what I saw?” he asks.

Komack blinks at him in a withering way, but he hasn’t been eviscerated quite yet, so that’s a good sign. “I sense a story here, so _please_ , go on.”

Kirk stands, gesturing broadly. “While I was enjoying my afternoon in Xanar, I was informed by my CMO, Dr. Leonard McCoy, who can happily vouch for this, here he is,” (he claps Bones on the shoulder as he says this, who raises an eyebrow, but says nothing), “that the three passengers I was supposed to convey had not only boarded the ship days early, they had actually _forced_ their way onboard, threatening members of my door crew. Dr. McCoy, would you be so kind as to verify if what I just said was true?”

Bones scowls at him for an instant, but puts on a neutral face for the vid-screen. He nods at Komack. “It’s true, I saw it myself. I was just about to disembark when I saw them essentially cajole and push their way onto the ship.”

Kirk claps him on the shoulder. “Thank you, Doctor, you may step back. As I was saying, the Vulcans threatened their way on board. When the good Doctor informed me of this, I beamed back to the ship in order to give our guests a proper welcome. I found them a few minutes later, in one of the upper hallways, talking with Commander Spock. At first, I assumed that they were old friends reacquainting themselves with one another, but then I heard what they were saying. One of them told Spock that he should have been culled at birth. That’s a quote. I’m sure our camera-logs can confirm, if you so feel the need.”

He takes a deep breath, feeling just a hint like the boy Jim, not the cocksure and prideful one, but the Jim from Talos IV, the Jim who had watched Pike die. The vulnerable Jim, the one who feared. George Kirk’s son. And in that moment, he realizes he is every bit his father, or at least his voice on the recorder, his father who’d stared down death and loss with barely a tremble. _Sweetheart, can you hear me?_

 _I can hear you,_ Winona had said.

He knows Komack’s read his files, seen the transcripts, seen the vids. And he knows he’s a brilliant liar, can talk himself out of anything, but this isn’t a lie, not exactly. It’s a poker game where he’s got a mediocre hand but he’ll be out next round by the blind alone, so why not risk it?

He has nothing to lose.

Because going to deep space, seeing all the wonders of the universe, First Contact—it doesn’t mean anything without Spock. It’s the first time he’s allowed himself to think it, but it’s been true since they boarded the ship, since Nibiru, since he’d walked into the hearing room in San Francisco. They’re tied together, in this universe, and the next, and likely all the others, too. And it’s not just Spock, but everyone. The family on this ship—he’s been searching for them his entire life, and he’s not going to let any of them be taken from him. He’s lucky, lucky for all of them. He doesn’t deserve their love, but he tries to earn it every day.

_Spock,_ he thinks, desperate. He pushes the thought out into the universe with everything he has. _I don’t know how your weird telepath powers work, but whatever shields I built are down, they always have been for you. So if you’re listening, know this: I would walk through fire for you. Ten times. Ten million._

Komack is staring at him, waiting for him to continue. It feels like the last three seconds have taken years. So he keeps going. The shakiness in his voice is real, now. “How was I supposed to know what he would do next? Vulcans can’t lie.” Steeling himself, he bulls forward. “I already lost Pike to inaction, I was not prepared to lose my XO too. So I did the only thing I could think to do.”

Komack is silent, weighing him, for a long, uncomfortable moment. Finally, he asks: “If you were so worried about safety, why didn’t you use your phaser?”

“Sir, with respect, do you carry a phaser when you’re enjoying a day out in the city?”

The admiral sighs explosively, and Kirk knows, in an earth-shattering moment of relief, that he’s won. “You’re a son of a bitch, you know that?”

“One of the best,” he says. “I didn’t mean to cause trouble, sir, you know I wouldn’t have done that had I not had cause to. I might have once, but I’m not that man any more. But I’m not letting anyone hurt my crew. I’d rather they hurt me.”

A flicker of a smile ghosts across Komack’s face, but then something _beeps_ behind him, and his brows draw together. “Hold that thought.”

And the vidscreen goes blank.

Jim turns to Uhura. “Is he gone?”

She looks as confused as he feels. Should he be worried? “No, he’s put us on hold.”

There’s only about 10 seconds of awkward silence to endure before the vidscreen clicks back on. Komack looks decidedly more stern than he had a few seconds before. “You’re in luck, kid. We’ve just had transmission from Ambassador Sarek of the High Council. Apparently they’ve rescinded their demands. You’re free to carry on.”

It's like someone's pulled a rug out from underneath him. He's stunned. “That fast? Why? I had a whole argument planned and everything.”

Komack shrugs. “You know Vulcans, they never say everything. You’re off the hook. But you’re on thin ice. Even one more slip-up like this and we’re calling you back.”

“Understood, sir.”

After Komack's face is replaced by the stars once more, the bridge crew turns towards Kirk. “Was it just me, or was that too easy?” asks Bones. He wears a wary expression Jim hasn't seen in a while, arms crossed, shoulders tight. 

“Yes,” says Uhura, swiveling in her chair to face them. “Something feels wrong.”

She glances up at him, fixing her hair, and her eyes go wide just as his do. But Kirk is leaping from his seat before she can, and he doesn’t miss the flash of relief in her eyes. “Sulu, take the conn. Comm me when we’re ten clicks out from the unknown.”

“Where are you—” starts somebody, probably Chekov, but the door shuts on the turbolift before Jim can answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where's Jim going? Why was it so easy? Any guesses?


End file.
